


Repairs and Renovation

by bottledbliss



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/M, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Healing, Major Illness, Miscarriage, Not Really Canon Compliant, Romance, Unexpected friendships, kastle - Freeform, somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledbliss/pseuds/bottledbliss
Summary: It’s been more than a year since he last saw her and she has probably moved on with her life.As she should.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s not long before Frank realizes that no matter how hard he tries to clear the streets, the weeds keep sprouting. He’s not alone in this, more and more “heroes” show up to help but it doesn’t get better. Every day is more of the same. And though he’d initially thought that he needed this, it’s beginning to dawn on him that he really, really doesn’t. He used to think of it as an itch he simply had to scratch. But it isn’t, not anymore. Instead, it has become a patch of flesh, raw from too much scratching, that keeps trying to heal, if only he would let it. He’s afraid he might regret it when he puts his guns down for the last time but he only feels relief. He knows the Punisher isn’t dead, he never will be; but he decides to lay him to rest anyway.

He doesn’t know where he finds the courage to show up at her door after what he said the last time they met. He doesn’t even believe he was the _right_ to be there but he manages, somehow. It’s been more than a year since he last saw her and she has probably moved on with her life.

_As she should._

He holds his breath and knocks.

Seconds –but somehow a lifetime- later, Karen opens the door and freezes. Frank can’t tell if the tension on her shoulders is because she doesn’t want him there or because she doesn’t know how to proceed. But she says “Good to know you’re not dead then” and nods and Frank tries to laugh but the sound that escapes his throat doesn’t even sound human.

“I can leave,” he suggests and he’s hoping that she will say yes, leave, and hoping that she will say no and he doesn’t want to go back, but he also doesn’t know how to move forward. Leaving though? Where would he go? She could send him away and he could disappear but some part of him would always linger by her door, the same way despair hangs in empty rooms where people never return.

But she, being Karen Page, intelligent, perceptive, magnificent Karen Page, releases him from the maze of his own mind and invites him inside where they share a drink and talk like old friends, separated by circumstance and mundane, daily tasks. He looks at her, her bashful smile and wide eyes and remembers what home feels like. There are no other voices in that room but his and hers, no carousel music, no ghosts from a past he wouldn’t wish to regain anymore. Karen is all there, her form is solid, as his hand assures him when he finally dares to hold hers. She is startled but says nothing, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop him.

They stare at each other for a long while, as though words are not necessary, but Frank knows how badly he’s screwed up in the past and intends to make amends. He knows Karen won’t be the one to break the silence this time. Her gaze is steady, coaxing him to speak, say what he really means for once.

“Listen, Karen,” he says as his thumb rubs circles on her hand. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things in the past. And I don’t mean the killing, you know. I have no regrets about that,” he clarifies and she doesn’t seem surprised or disappointed, so he goes on. “I think I overdid it in trying to protect you. Of course, you haven’t made it easy,” Frank chuckles. “But now I worry, you see, that maybe I pushed you too far away, maybe I put you in a spot where I can’t…” He trails off because the words coming to mind don’t seem right. Karen softly squeezes his fingers, giving him strength to go on. “Where I can’t retrieve you,” he says finally and looks at her with eyes begging to be proven wrong.

Her stance doesn’t change, she doesn’t stiffen but makes her dislike of his choice of words very clear. “I am not an object to be retrieved, Frank. I am a human being. You can’t expect to win me over like that,” she says, challenging him to do better.

“That mean you’re going to let me try at least?” He can’t hide the hopeful tone in his voice.

“Yeah, Frank,” Karen leans in and places a quick, unexpected kiss on his lips. “I think we owe it to ourselves to try.”

Frank could have sworn he’d forgotten how to smile in a properly happy, genuine way but there it is; a smile blooming on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but I clearly don't know when to stop. My meager contribution to Kastle and, admittedly, not my best writing. It's the first time I post anything here so let me know if there are any tags I should add. Warnings will be added later because they'll be needed, trust me. I thrive on heartbreak. Thank you and sorry!


	2. Chapter 2

At some point, they had decided that the bond they shared was too great to be confined or defined by social constructs and they had built up their relationship to a point where neither one of them feared that the other would leave. But Frank was an old fashioned man and both of them wanted things to be neat and tidy before the baby came so, one fine morning, they’d gone down to City Hall and, surrounded by only their closest friends, Karen Page had taken Pete Castiglione to be her lawfully wedded husband.

Karen had insisted that nobody dressed up too nicely; she had worn a simple white dress and allowed herself the luxury of putting flowers in her hair. Frank had felt his jaw hang open when he’d seen her approach him. She had looked like a fairy, straight from the page of a book. His brain, unable to process the abundant beauty of her simple outfit, her pregnant belly just barely visible under the flowing fabric, had only allowed him to utter a mere “Hi, Karen,” when she took his hand; but he had found his voice by the time the important questions had been asked and for the rest of the day, they had both walked on their cloud of perfect bliss.

She had found a quiet, private moment to let him know it was okay if sad things came to mind on this day, that she would never ask him to forget and suppress the memory of the family he had lost and Frank had kissed her and reassured her that the past was the past and he was at peace, even during the inevitable sad moments. Pete Castiglione, Frank Castle and the Punisher were all at peace now. He hadn’t thought it possible but there it was, as evident as the white blossoms in her hair, and he was looking forward to the good things their future would bring.

Sadly, the future doesn’t always come bearing gifts, as they found out in one of the worst ways possible when the doctor officially announced to them what they’d already figured out on their own; cervical insufficiency, he’d said, among other things that they didn’t want to hear. Karen buried her face in Frank’s chest and wept as quietly as possible, as though she wasn’t allowed to openly mourn the loss of something she’d held so dear. He didn’t have any words for her, nothing even remotely soothing to say so he simply matched her silent tears, running his hand over her hair for what felt like ages.

When they return home, Karen has a faraway look in her eye and it reminds him of himself, before she found him, before he had been offered the chance to dream of another life, with her. And he knows that he will pull her out of this swamp, the same way she did with him. At first, he sits with her through the most desperate moments and holds her when she cries, and when those become scarcer, he urges her to go back to work, to see her friends. He gets her a goldfish and names it Arthur, just because, and Karen laughs wholeheartedly as they mend together.

Frank knows she’s fully back when they start fighting again, mostly about how she keeps following leads that get her into serious trouble. It almost makes him wish that she would go back to work with Nelson and Murdock but he understands what being a reporter means to her. Karen reminds him, every time, that she can hold her own and she doesn’t need protection and, exasperated, Frank walks out, slamming the door behind him. He never goes further, doesn’t leave the building. He just stands there for a while and takes deep breaths until he can see reason. When he walks back in, Karen is waiting for him in the same spot. She knows he never means to actually leave and her chin lowers as he apologizes for being hot-headed and she apologizes for making him worry but refuses to stop doing it.

“I get it,” Frank tells her and he really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing, not really.


	3. Chapter 3

One day, a few months later, she sits across from him at the table while he’s reading the paper and sipping coffee from a giant mug. He doesn’t need to look over; he can sense she’s staring at him and he can tell her mind is made up about something but has no idea what it could be. He doesn’t put the paper down and groans in acknowledgement of her intention to start a conversation.

“I was thinking,” Karen begins.

“Yeah, I know you were thinking, I can hear the gears grinding from here. Just spit it out, Page,” he replies and is very glad she never changed her surname so he can use it in this manner whenever he sees fit. 

“Can you put the paper down, please, Frank?”

He does as he’s told and braces himself for what he’s about to hear.

“I would like to try again,” she tells him and she’s about to continue, to make sure he understands what she means but, oh, he understands just fine.

“No,” he says, his voice is soft but firm and for a moment he tricks himself into thinking he might actually win an argument with Karen Page.

“Hear me out before refusing, will you?” Karen pouts and it’s infuriating how he wants to tell her off and kiss her at the same time.

“Why would you do this to yourself again, Karen? For me? You think I need this to be happy? To stay?” he spits out and immediately knows how wrong he is. Her eyes could be glowing red for all the rage that’s pooling in them.

“How dare you say that to me?” she says through gritted teeth.

Frank raises his hands in surrender and tries again. “Let me tell you how I see it and then you do the same.” Karen nods and he goes on, voice as calm as possible, even though what he’s describing makes him sick to his stomach. “That day, when I came back from work and found you on the floor in a pool of your own blood, I thought the world had ended.” It takes a lot out of him to remain composed. “Thought I was too late, that whatever had gone wrong was beyond repair and I’d have to live with that image of you in my mind for the rest of my days.” He pauses and slowly crosses his hands on the table, silently willing his lungs to restore full breathing functions as soon as possible. “So you see my problem, Karen. I don’t want to risk your life for anything.”

Karen nods. It’s a slow, deliberate nod but it’s definitely not one of assent. “Now you listen to me, Frank.” Her hands mirror the position of his own. “I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m not worried. I am. I’m afraid of the stress and the pain and everything that came after it. But do you think that’s enough to stop me?” Her gaze softens on him and he doesn’t need to hear the rest of it to know that, when she delivers her closing statement, he will find it very difficult not to agree. “Trying again would be as much for you as it would be for me. Because we are together in this, we're partners. So, as your partner, I would like to inform you that I love you,” she stares him down as her voice becomes more delicate, “and it would be one of my greatest pleasures if I could create something with you, that is equal parts yours and mine, that will live on after we are gone and that will be proof of the love that we shared during our brief time on this planet,” she concludes.

Frank reaches out one hand to hold hers and she lets him. “You need tangible proof, Karen?” he asks, trying to hide the fact that his eyes are welling up. “Isn’t this enough?”

“Of course it is!” She stands up and runs over to him, holding his head up with both hands to look into his eyes. “You are more than enough, Frank. That’s not what I’m saying. A baby would simply be an added perk.” She smiles gently and kisses him. “Please, tell me you understand.”

Of course he understands. He understands and he agrees but doesn’t tell her. Not to her face at least because she knows well enough how to read him anyway. “Let’s agree on one thing first,” he says. “We try once. If it goes wrong, like the first time, we never do it again.”

“Your terms are reasonable and I accept them,” she tells him before throwing her arms around his neck and covering his face with kisses.

***

They follow the doctor’s advice with religious care. Karen even takes leave off work and stays in bed a lot of the time and Frank spoils her as much as humanly possible. They are mindful of every possible detail that could be a sign of things going south but since there are no definite signs to watch out for anyway, they are mindful of everything, narrowly avoiding the fine line between being careful and being paranoid. The progress is smooth and without complications and as the nine month mark approaches, they are both buzzing with excitement.

One night, as they’re lying in bed talking and laughing, Karen comes to the sudden realization that their apartment is big enough for the addition of a baby but not big enough for a growing child. Frank jokes that it’s barely big enough for her belly at this point and skillfully avoids her elbow which intended to lodge itself in the general area of his ribs. “I am huge, aren’t I?” she says, not the least bit sullen but he makes sure to kiss her belly, just in case. Karen smiles and looks over to the crib he’s set up by their bed. “Frank, I don’t know how to tell you this but I’m afraid that we’re going to have to move soon.”

“Anywhere you want,” he tells her. He would move in a tent in the desert if that’s what she wanted. Home is where Karen is, Frank knows that. The geographical location is of no importance.

“How does Massapequa Park sound?” she says, having already pulled her lap top and looking into good schools.

Frank raises his eyebrows, a little bit surprised. “I thought you meant a bigger apartment.”

“Oh, but look, Frank!” She turns the lap top to him so he can look at the screen, a photo of a small house covered in snow.

“Yeah, I’d love to get snowed in, dream come true that one,” he teases and when he sees her pout, he rushes to add “One step at a time. Let’s have this baby first and then we’ll see about moving.”

Karen’s bright eyes look at him with enthusiasm, a look he can’t refuse most of the time. “It says it’s perfect for families.”

And with that, Frank knows they’ll end up moving to Massapequa Park.

When the contractions begin, he is ready to go, duffle bag in hand, feeling like this emotional state isn’t completely dissimilar to how he used to prepare for battle. His mind is starting to calculate all possible outcomes before he can stop it and he doesn’t want to be back _there_ , in that state of mind, not right now, when his daughter is eager to arrive into this world. Karen squeezes his arm and calls his name, grounding him. He looks at her face, sweat gathering around her forehead and the steel in his eyes starts to melt. Nothing matters, nothing besides this woman who has given him everything he could have ever asked for.

At the hospital, he sits beside Karen’s bed in silent agitation and she smiles, exhausted and relieved that everything went well, that there is no loss this time. He lets out a long breath, nods and goes to her, leaning his forehead into hers. The nurse comes in, the baby just a small bundle in her arms and she moves towards Karen.

“Could you hand her over to her father, please?” she says. Her palms are twitching with the desire to hold her daughter again but Frank hasn’t even seen her yet; he needs this. Frank looks up, terrified. He shouldn’t be so scared, he’s done this before but as the nurse places the tiny creature in his arms, it makes sense. Holding something so precious and so fragile takes more guts than he ever needed in order to be the Punisher. He looks at his daughter and this time, he doesn’t bother to even try and hide the fact that tears are gathering in his eyes. The faces of the children he’s lost appear suddenly in his mind, smiling, and he’s torn between the happiness the warm bundle is spreading in his heart and the pain of loss.

“Are we alone?” Karen asks him when the nurse has left, because she knows him too well and he shakes his head, embarrassed.

Karen’s delicate fingers curl around his arm and she pulls him a little bit closer. He turns to her and finds her smiling graciously. “Good.” She squeezes his arm. “It is a family moment after all,” she tells him and Frank sighs, thankful for his amazing wife and their beautiful child and, just like that, the three of them are the centre of the universe and nothing exists outside of their bubble.

Before long, Foggy and Murdock arrive, filling the small space with balloons. Frank hopes that when Karen’s boss inevitably shows up, he can slip away and get Karen some white roses, a small token of his infinite gratitude. Mitchell is there, sooner than expected, having the good sense to bring alcohol instead of balloons or stuffed animals. Though they’re told alcohol consumption isn’t allowed in the hospital, Frank takes a swig of champagne and leaves the party in search of flowers.

If he had to choose between his previous life, Maria and the kids, and this one, what would he do, Frank wonders. Now that he knows the happiness Karen brings along with her, would he still wish for his old life back? Could he sacrifice what is most dear to him now for what was most dear to him then? It shouldn’t even matter, things are how they are and there’s no changing them but out of all the possible choices, Frank knows he has made the best choice. It’s an impossible thing to ask of anyone anyway, it’s too much. He has to block this train of thought before he brings himself to admit that between Maria and Karen, he’d choose Karen.

She sees him enter the room again, flowers in hand and stifles a giggle. The others don’t stay too long and Frank is glad because he’s had to stop himself from snarling a couple of times, as the baby was passed from one’s arms to another’s. It’s unreasonable, he knows. It’s also instinctive and he can’t help it, he justifies. They will only have a few moments alone with the baby before she’s taken back to the nursery.

“White roses, huh,” Karen says, nodding towards the flowers he’s placed by the window.

“Too old fashioned?” he teases.

“No, I was just wondering. What do you think about _Rose_?”

Frank hums, examining the baby’s face as she sleeps with her mouth slightly open in her mother’s arms. “Yeah, sounds good,” he says and places his pinky in his daughter’s tiny fist. She squeezes his finger, as though in agreement.

By the time Rose begins crawling, they’ve moved to Massapequa Park, in a modest house which still manages to look empty even with all their furniture. Karen tells him it might take time to fill the space but it will get there and, honestly, Frank doesn’t care. They both know what makes a house a home and it certainly isn’t the furniture.

For about a week, they have to reap the consequences that the change of environment has brought to Rose’s sleep schedule. They can hardly believe it when she manages to sleep through the night but they’re still anxious so they still can’t actually sleep. But the next night, there is no one awake in the house and the results of that are obvious in the morning, when Karen prepares breakfast while humming some song and Frank feeds Rose, without feeling the need to rest his eyes even for a moment. A small palm covered in baby food smacks his forehead and he’s perplexed for a moment before Karen starts laughing. Then Rose is laughing and Frank is laughing too, as he wipes his daughter’s hand with a towel and kisses it, and he knows all is well.

They arrange to work in shifts; Frank goes to the construction site in the morning while Karen stays at home with Rose, doing some of her own work at the same time. If she has work to do outside the house, she leaves the moment he’s back, giving him a quick kiss when they meet at the door. It means they don’t see each other a lot sometimes but it’s okay, it works for them. And it makes little things, such as Frank waiting up for Karen with dinner already served, all the more important. It’s one of those nights that she sits on his lap and, in between kisses, asks “Do you know how happy you make me?”

Frank wishes he could say yes, I know, but he’s never entirely sure that she hasn’t given up things she valued just to be with him. But the fact that she’s still there, still comes home to him, should be proof enough. “Not half as happy as you make me, I bet,” he says.

“It’s not a competition,” Karen chastises him in good humor.

Frank smiles against her lips and says “If it was a competition, you’d lose”. He has to wonder though, has she lost something? And if so, what?

“I'd still win,” she tells him, silencing all worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to prove to myself that torturing characters isn't the only way forward.


	4. Chapter 4

When Rose asks for a swing in the back yard, Frank immediately starts building it. They can afford to buy one of course but he feels better doing it himself, for her. And Rose seems to appreciate it too, clapping her small hands excitedly as she relates the information to her mother who has barely had time to close the door behind her. Karen tries very hard not to laugh. “Don’t trust me to build a swing set?” he asks her, hunched over several tools.

“I’ll trust you to tear down the whole of New York before I trust you with building anything,” she responds.

He stands up and reaches a dusty hand behind her neck to pull her into a kiss, before thinking that she’s wearing a white shirt and he's getting dirt all over it. He apologizes but Karen clearly doesn’t mind as she burrows in his embrace.

“If you can’t do it, we’ll buy her one and say you made it, don’t worry.” She gives him a soft peck on the cheek and heads back into the house.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence!” Frank yells after her.

The swing set has been built and installed a week later. The splinters in his hands are proof of his work. Okay, each one of them thinks without telling the other, so it’s slightly lopsided but it’s sturdy and it works, much like their life. Rose is thrilled with her new gift and they have to pull her away from it and drag her back inside when the evening chill descends. Frank asks her if she likes it and she gives him an exhausted but happy thumbs-up over her dinner plate. She’s almost five now, she’ll start going to school soon.

“Time flies,” he tells Karen after she’s put Rose to bed.

“Especially when you’re in good company,” she says, hugging him and he wraps his long arms around her.

“We did good, right, Page?” Frank asks and doesn’t just mean Rose, but the life they chose and built together.

Karen knows he’s not really questioning it but needs to be reassured all the same. “Absolutely,” she says and her tone means more to Frank than the word itself.

Someday he knows he’s going to have to tell Rose everything. Well, maybe not everything but the gist of it, surely. He would like to tell her about the siblings that she’ll never meet but a lot of heavy baggage comes along with that bit of information and she’s too young still, too small for such a burden. Perhaps when she’s older but before she’s learnt to google stuff, he imagines. Maybe even never, if that’s what it takes to make sure she’ll always look at him like she did today, like he can only make good things, like his hands aren’t still covered in blood even though he hasn’t shot a gun in years.

“What do we… I mean, should we tell her? At some point?” he whispers in Karen’s hair.

“Of course we will,” she says, pulling away to look at him. “Not yet, obviously, but we will. In the future. So you shouldn’t be worrying about it now. We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

She’s right. She’s right and he nods and lets out a long breath. Time does fly but it can also go slowly, if you let it. If you don’t fuss about every little detail and take things as they come.

“Care to join me in the shower?” Karen says a few paces ahead of him and Frank follows, mesmerized, as though the world is perfect and nothing could change that.

One evening, Karen calls and says she can’t come home right away but that he shouldn’t worry, which is exactly what you tell someone if there **is** something to worry about. He growls into his phone, hoping that Rose can’t sense the change in the atmosphere. She was being followed, Karen tells him; it was very dark and she couldn’t make out the details of his face but when the stalker grabbed her arm, she turned around, punched him straight in the nose and ran. “Where was your piece, Karen?” he grumbles. At the office, she sighs. Stupid mistake but everything’s fine and now she’s locked herself in the office, waiting for Matt and Foggy to come get her. It might take a while.

“Return home safe so I can kill you myself,” Frank tries to joke but his stomach has turned into several knots and his tone is dry.

Rose is occupied with drawing. She has no idea what’s going on but seeing as her mother is usually back in time to tuck her in, she’s a little bit anxious at bedtime. Frank waits until her breath is coming out evenly and then goes to pace up and down the living room. He considers letting the Punisher out to play but he can’t, not with the kid asleep in the next room. He curses and narrowly avoids punching a hole through the coffee table. He’d never thought he’d see the day when he would have to rely on the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to protect his girl. Frank grits his teeth and waits. There’s not much else he can do anyway.

Karen walks in a little bit after 3 a.m. and Frank doesn’t know what to do except hold her and squeeze her until he’s sure she’s really there, unharmed. The signs of a rough night are visible on her face but she smiles to him and rubs his cheek tenderly. He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, trying very hard to ignore the vague smell of blood on it. “Please, Karen,” he begs. “Go back to working with Foggy and Matt.”

She doesn’t remember a time when he’s referred to them with anything other than their surnames; even though he perceives them as friends, they’ve always been other, different, not his family. The way he says their names now, Karen knows this is an argument she shouldn’t hope to win. To be honest, she’s not sure she even wants to argue. “I promise,” she assures him, “as soon as this story is finished, I’m done”.  She feels a bit ashamed when he thanks her, as if she’s doing him a favor, as if she wasn’t selfishly thinking that maybe it’s okay for the truth to wait for somebody else to uncover it, as long as she can be home with her family.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose starts going to school and everybody loves her. Her teacher tells them how happy the kid seems to be, how polite and well-behaved and cheerful. Frank feels proud but also a tiny bit annoyed at being told this, like he can’t see her sparkling with joy every day himself or can’t see how infectious that can be.  Mainly proud though; he’s had a hand in raising this one, he’s been more involved. But it would be stupid of him to think that he’s the most important figure in his daughter’s upbringing. The kid is all Karen. Looks just like a miniature version of her and behaves a lot like her too. Except from the times when she acts a bit rough and he recognizes a sliver of himself in there; then he has to remind her that she needs to be more gentle and Rose asks “Like you, daddy?”, looking at him like he’s the finest specimen of a human being. And he doesn’t know what to say. 

He tries to make friends with other neighborhood dads but they’re acquaintances at best. He can’t really find a point of connection with them, besides their love of their children. They’re good guys, most of them. Decent and hardworking. Sometimes they gather in the back yard for a beer or two and that’s fine with Frank, he enjoys the company, but he feels much better when Foggy can be part of the herd.

Foggy is familiar, he makes Frank feel at ease. He doesn’t realize Foggy has become one of his best friends until one night, one of the guys comments on how far he’d go to protect his children. Frank sneers inside his head and catches a glimpse of Foggy. The corners of his mouth are twitching, like he’s trying not to laugh as he meets Frank’s eyes. There’s no judgement there, not anymore. Though the morality of his past actions will always be questionable at best according to Nelson, there’s no more disapproval or condemnation. Only acceptance. _You did what you needed to do_ , he seems to be saying. _It’s done_.

Frank nods, looking at the ground.

Later, out of the blue, as he’s getting ready to put Rose to bed, he asks Karen when Foggy and Marci might be available for dinner. He feels like cooking for them, he says. She raises an eyebrow and asks him if Matt is also invited. “Yeah, sure,” Frank replies. “The puppy can come too.”

“And the Liebermans?” she adds.

“We’re going to need a lot of food,” he says, admitting that ‘the more, the merrier’ seems to be about right. Then he picks his daughter up and places her over his shoulder, which sends her into a fit of giggles, and they both shout “Night, mommy” as they disappear into Rose’s bedroom.  Karen laughs to herself and a smile remains on her face as she goes back to her research.

It’s almost two weeks later before everyone involved is actually willing and able to attend and as Frank is fussing over the stove, stirring some kind of sauce, he curses under his breath. He’s accepted the task without thinking it might be impossible to accomplish and cooking for all these people is proving to be quite the challenge. Karen, taking pity on him, has offered to help but he said no, he’d do it himself and now she’s filling people’s glasses and keeping an eye on the kids. David approaches him with a beer in his hand, inspecting his technique. Then he hums and stares at him.

Frank gives him an impatient look. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, no,” David replies, shrugs and sighs dramatically. “I just never thought I’d see this with my own two eyes.”

“You’ve seen me cook before, jackass.”

“Not like this,” David insists.

“What does that mean? Like what?” Frank huffs.

“Like…” he pauses. “Settled down. Content.”

Frank could argue that contentment is the last thing he could be feeling right now but how could he deny that he’s pleased with the direction his life has taken? Nevertheless, David’s smug face is getting on his nerves and as the sizzling sounds intensify, he feels like kicking him out of there so he can focus on the cooking.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” he responds.

David knows that if it were just the two of them, Frank might be coaxed into talking about the more touchy feely stuff but under the circumstances, he’s not getting anything more out of him. He rolls his eyes and laughs. “I think I might switch plates with somebody, in case you try poisoning my food.”

“Get out of my kitchen, Lieberman,” Frank snarls and David scampers to the living room, still laughing.

After their guests insist they’re stuffed and the empty plates have been moved to the sink, Frank politely removes himself from the table and sits by his daughter who is showing her folder of drawings to the other two children. Leo, being the angel that she is, demonstrates all the signs of excitement, so much so that it’s impossible to tell if she’d rather be doing anything else at that moment. Zach, however, is not even trying to appear interested and scoffs at the colorful smudges. That pisses Frank off and though he doesn’t try to be menacing, his voice comes out a bit more harsh than intended when he asks the boy to be nice to his daughter. Oblivious to this, Rose reaches up and wraps her arms around Frank’s neck, squeezing almost to the point of asphyxiation.

She’s always happy in large groups, never shy or nervous. “It’s good to have friends,” she tells him. Not ‘I like having friends’; ‘it’s good’, like she is absolutely certain, even at such a young age, that this is a fact of life. Frank agrees and places a kiss on the top of her head. “As long as they’re playing nice,” he says, throwing a meaningful look in Zach’s direction. The boy’s behavior improves significantly after that.

“Wanna join the adults?” David calls to him.

Frank turns around to reply with something sarcastic, just to piss Lieberman off. But when he catches sight of Karen, seating among their friends who are all engaged in vivid conversation with each other, his heart skips a beat. She’s just smiling to him, isn’t doing anything significant really but he can tell how happy she is. And he’s glad he’s there to witness moments like that, when it’s not just the two of them wrapped in their blissful cocoon, but surrounded by family. With Karen’s smile beckoning to him, he resumes his place between her and Foggy.

“Grab me a beer?” he asks the man next to him, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Sure, buddy,” Foggy says and hands him a bottle.

_Buddy_ , Frank thinks to himself. _We’ve sure come a long way._

He thinks about how everybody in the room has been avoiding addressing him by name all night. And he gets it; if they called him Frank in these more private moments, they might slip up and use his name around people that mustn’t know. But most importantly, Rose. She believes daddy’s name is Pete. That’s what they’ve told her, that’s what she says when she’s asked. Frank looks over to his daughter who seems to be completely fascinated by Leo. He knows Frank Castle has done some bad shit, he knows all the reasons why Frank Castle had to die. But a part of him wishes he could just be Frank around Rose, without complications, without all the worries. Then, momentarily distracted, Rose turns to him and catching his eye, flashes him a huge smile before going back to her fun and games. And yes, sure, the kid is all Karen, but there’s something of his in there too that has nothing to do with roughness. Even if she’ll only ever know him as Pete, Frank Castle is alive and well within Rose and he can live with that.

“Everything okay?” Karen whispers in his ear.

 Frank nods and, very sincerely, replies “Yeah, everything’s perfect”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you hate it when you want to make characters do certain things and they end up doing whatever the hell they want? I never planned on making Frank cook for his friends but he wanted to cook I guess.


	6. Chapter 6

One afternoon they find themselves surprisingly free of other commitments- no work, no chores, no nothing. It’s a rare occasion and they decide to relish it by being lazy; Karen is already in the backyard with Rose when Frank walks out, one steaming cup of coffee in each hand. Karen reminds their daughter, for the millionth time, not to climb the fence and jump off it, a game she’s taken a liking to in the past couple of days. He sits on the steps and sets the cups down, patting the empty space next to him and Karen quickly joins him.

“I’m not going to lie. I love her but sometimes she’s so damn stubborn,” she tells him.

“Yeah, I wonder who she takes that from,” Frank teases her.

Karen pretends to be offended for a moment but doesn’t make much effort to deny it. Between the two of them, she’s clearly the most stubborn. She hides a naughty smile by leaning over her cup. “Is this decaf?” she asks, seeking to change the subject.

“I don’t do decaf,” he laughs. From the corner of his eye he can see Rose sneakily approaching the fence again. “Hey, kid!” he shouts and she startles. “I’m watching you. Stay away from that fence.” She grins at him like a tiny adorable demon and heads for the swing. Frank observes her movements for a little while longer and then turns back to Karen.

“Do you ever think,” he begins but pauses, finding himself at a loss for words. He knows what he means to say but can’t find a way to express it properly. But Karen is either always one step ahead or a freaking mind reader because she finishes his sentence for him.

“About having another one?” she says and he nods. “Sometimes.” Her gaze drifts away, as though glimpsing a parallel universe but she tilts her head, catches sight of Rose playing on the swing and, smiling, she comes back to the conversation. “Do you?” she returns the question.

The answer is complicated. Yes and no. But that means nothing. Looking at their child, he knows he already has more blessings than he’s worth. Who could ask for more? Raising children comes down to how much love you have to give and even though Frank had thought he was all out, he’d found new reserves of the stupid thing; because of Karen and for Karen and their Rose. And he imagines that if another kid was added to the equation the supply wouldn’t decrease. Because that’s the funny thing about love, the more you share it the more it multiplies. But does he want another one? All he could ever want is right here.

Karen puts her hand on his knee. “Are you asking because you think that’s what I want but I’m afraid to bring it up?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe.” He covers her hand with his. “When I think that there are things you can’t have because of me…” he trails off.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” she says. “I thought that after all this time you might have figured it out but it seems I was mistaken.” She fixes him with a glare that shouldn’t be intimidating, except it is and it makes him feel incredibly small. “What do you think it is I’m doing here? Gritting my teeth and enduring each day of my life? Trying to find things to fill holes that you imagine are there? That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Hey,” he stammers, leaning into her shoulder. “That’s not what I meant, okay?”

“But do you still think like that? Sometimes?” she insists.

He sits up, straightens his back, stretches his legs. Stalls for time. Karen watches him carefully, keen on getting an answer, completely unwilling to let it go.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did for me, Karen,” he says after a while.

“What did I do?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

She really doesn’t get it, Frank thinks to himself. How can she not? “You fixed me,” his reply comes out in a sad whisper.

Karen sighs. “No, I did not,” she tells him and Frank catches himself wondering if he imagined all those years of his life with her, if it was just some fevered dream caused by all the beatings he’s taken. But the squeaking sound of the swing and their daughter’s laughter grounds him in reality.

“You were not some broken man I had to put together so that you could love me back,” she continues and he sees a tear trailing down her cheek but her voice doesn’t break. At some point, she had become very good at crying without allowing her voice to give it away. Frank is afraid he had some part in it but hopes that it isn’t so. He wipes the tear away and before he can pull his hand back, Karen has grabbed it and brought it to her chest. “Are you listening to me?” she says affectionately. “I didn’t lift a finger to fix you,” she tells him and whispers his name, his actual name, so that Rose can’t hear. “You did that yourself. Putting all the pieces back together, that was all you. I only…” She inhales sharply and lets out a small laugh. “I only showed you where the glue was.”

Frank spreads his fingers on her chest, feels the thumping of her heart against his palm. Karen puts more pressure on his hand, almost as though she wants him to touch her very real, fierce heart and he knows that if it were possible, she would give it to him to hold. He can’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing her. When they break the kiss, they’re both surprised by Rose’s face, too close to their own, as she examines them carefully.

“Is mommy okay?” she asks.

“Mommy is fine,” Karen tells her. “Go play, we’ll have to go inside soon.”

Rose skips away, kicking fallen leaves. “Why were you kissing her so much?” she asks again.

“Because I love her,” Frank says and by Karen’s expression, he realizes he probably doesn’t say it as often as he should. With their daughter’s attention back to other things, he turns to his wife and kisses her again. “I love you, Page,” he repeats to make sure she doesn’t forget.

“Well, I hope so,” Karen says playfully, “or else I married you for nothing.”

She brings the cup back up to her lips, inhaling deeply as the smell of strong coffee tickles her nose and Frank stares at her, thinking how beautiful she is. It’s as though time moves slowly in that moment, Karen’s gaze dropping shyly to the ground and then turning to look back at him, meeting his eyes and holding them for what seems like an eternity. Then his mind registers the quiet and before he can mention it, he sees Karen look away, flinch and drop her cup. The cup rolls awkwardly, spilling its contents around their feet but it doesn’t break. Time begins moving faster, back to normal speed, as soon as Rose starts wailing.

He becomes extremely focused even though the sound is tearing his heart to pieces; she hasn’t cried like that since she was a teething baby. Karen is covering her mouth with a trembling hand and he almost doesn’t want to look but she gets up and runs the small distance to their daughter and he just has to follow. Rose is sitting by the fence and her tiny face is covered in blood, her blonde locks soaked in it. Frank is relieved because he has seen this before and he knows it’s going to be okay. The kid is crying mostly because of fear rather than pain and he can deal with that, he can fix it, he will make everything better.

Karen is kneeling next to Rose, trying to figure out where all the blood is coming from, barely managing to hold back her own tears. “I told you,” she stutters between dry sobs. “I told you to stop climbing on that damn fence!” Rose starts crying louder at this and Karen looks like she’s about to lose her mind. Frank puts his hand on her shoulder and she looks up at him, wide eyed and terrified. “What do I do?” she asks him. She could patch anybody else up without making a sound but her daughter’s distress is too much to bear. “Tell me what to do,” she says again in one desperate breath.

“Just bring me a clean towel and maybe a bottle of water,” he says and she races inside. Frank kneels down and speaks in a low, calm voice. “Hey, baby, look at me.” His tone seems to make the volume of her crying decrease as she lifts her little head to him. She’s bleeding pretty badly and he feels his stomach clench. “I know it hurts but I’m going to need you to calm down a bit, okay? Take your time,” he tells her and the wailing becomes more of a whimper but her chest is still heaving with sobs. “Did all the blood scare you?” She nods. “It’s okay, mommy is going to help us clean it up,” he reassures her. “I got you, sweetheart. I got you,” he tells her over and over.

Karen runs back to them with the towel and a small water bottle just as Frank is sitting down, picking Rose up and placing her on his lap. Still shaking, Karen hands him the towel and he begins wiping away the blood. The moment the towel touches her face, Rose lets out a scream and resumes her ear-splitting crying. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Karen’s panic is renewed by the fresh wave of weeping. Frank cradles his daughter to make her feel more comfortable but he’s sure the crying will take a long time to stop completely. “There’s a gash just above her eyebrow,” he explains to his wife. “All the blood makes it look like a murder scene but it’s nothing to worry about. Might need stitches though. Can you drive?” he asks her but the question is kinda ridiculous, seeing as her hands can’t seem to stop twitching; she shakes her head. “Okay, you take her, I'll drive.”

Rose holds her arms out to her mother the second Frank finishes his sentence. In between tearful shrieks, she manages to convey to Karen that she doesn’t want to be yelled at for falling. “I’m not going to yell at you,” Karen tells her, “because I’m not angry with you. You scared me, that’s all.” With this, Rose hides her bloody face into Karen’s neck, where she continues to cry but Frank suspects that the warmth and familiar scent of her mother’s skin makes her feel a bit better. They get in the car and he drives calmly as Karen whispers comfort into their daughter’s ear.

Only after the doctor has verified that Frank’s assessment of the injury was correct does he allow himself to relax, feeling his knees wobble. Rose has to get a couple of stitches but the worst bit has passed and she’s brave, very brave, wincing only a few times as the needle goes through her skin. Karen lets out a sigh of relief and he takes her hand in his, squeezing it gently. In an attempt to lift up Rose’s spirits, he suggests they stop for pizza before heading home and that seems to do the trick.

Neither Frank nor Karen feel particularly hungry so they sit and watch as their daughter devours a slice of pizza too large for her tiny stomach. Their clothes look like grisly works of abstract art but the staff doesn’t really dwell on it, besides asking them if everything is alright. Rose informs them that her face doesn’t hurt so bad anymore and they tell her that’s good, that she won’t even remember it soon.

Karen leans towards him and says under her breath “That’s a lie. It’s probably going to leave a mark”.

“Hey, it’s not so bad. My face is full of those, in case you haven’t noticed,” he tells her, rotating his head to display the scars of past wounds and she rubs his scruffy cheek.

“I guess I am the undefeated champion of beauty in this little family then,” she says.

“I sure hope so. I only married you for your looks,” Frank gives her a half smile and Karen starts laughing, all the tension leaving her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing has taken over my life.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Rose’s seventh birthday is coming up, their schedules are far more comfortable. They can both work during the day and have more time to spend together in the evening. It’s a new and improved dynamic, not having to meet each other at the door as one of them rushes out and share passionate moments in a hurry or, even worse, too exhausted to share passionate moments at all. Neither one of them complained about their previous situation because they had planned it knowing the most important part was being together, even for small amounts of time. Now they are both delighted and the first couple of weeks that Karen walks in the house to find him there, waiting, knowing that she won’t need to run off soon, she lights up. Frank, unable to resist her on any occasion, finds it even harder to keep away from her when she looks at him like that. He has to remind himself to ease his grip on her; she does need to breathe after all.

Out of Rose’s earshot, she tells him about the evidence they are collecting for their most recent case, a drug lord who doesn’t know when to quit. They don’t have much yet but she’s hopeful, confident, some witness is bound to turn up because this guy needs to be locked away as soon as possible. Frank doesn’t have much to say about the construction site. It’s hard work but it’s straightforward, simple but he can’t make good conversation by explaining the use of the sledgehammer. Unless one of the guys there is being an asshole, he’s satisfied just listening to her and helping her untangle the winding thread of her thoughts.

They talk about their daughter. They talk about their friends. They talk about books, music, life. They talk.

On the day when Karen is certain they have finally found a clue which will be the final nail in the coffin that is the conviction they’ve been hoping for, she leaves work a little earlier so she can celebrate with Frank. She has a bottle of white wine in her hand as she walks the last few paces to their gate. She hears Frank laugh and her heart flutters, until she realizes he’s engaged in conversation with a brunette who’s leaning against the fence. This shouldn’t bother her. But it does.

She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s used to Frank hanging out mostly with men, or because the woman is twirling a dark strand of hair between her fingers and giggling in a way that seems almost cartoonish, or simply because that is **her** man, and Karen feels the need to drag her nails down his cheek to mark him, to make it clear that no one touches him but her.  He is wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, dirty with grease stains. He was probably working on the car when that woman walked by and targeted him, like he was hers for the taking, like he doesn’t belong to Karen. She recognizes the woman. They’ve exchanged pleasantries in the street before but they’ve never come close enough to even becoming acquaintances.

Frank sees her approach and a spark ignites in his dark eyes. “Hey,” he says simply.

Karen is angry, she doesn’t even know why and that is only making her more upset. She’s not a jealous woman but she is feeling pretty fucking jealous right now. “Where’s Rose?” she huffs, closing the gate behind her.

He looks confused. “She just went inside,” he informs her and she just walks away from him.

Her daughter rushes her at the door and Karen puts the bottle of wine down, picks Rose up and momentarily soothed, asks her about her day. Frank has followed her inside and he’s just lingering at the door, saying nothing, as their daughter fills the air with the music of her chatter. She can feel his eyes on her back, wants to slap him and undress him at the same time. It’s not his fault that other women look at him like that, like he’s edible. And she’s not angry with him but somebody has to pay.

She gives Rose a peck on the cheek and sets her down, telling her to go resume what she was doing while mommy cooks. She opens and closes cabinets, picks ingredients carefully, taking her time, doesn’t turn to look at her husband.

“You brought wine,” Frank remarks awkwardly.

“I am aware,” she says and hears him sigh.

“What is this about, Karen? What’s wrong?”

She wants to tell him but she’s afraid he will laugh and that will only make things worse. With her back still turned to him, she shrugs.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” he growls. “Either tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it or tell me to go to hell.”

Her brain screams warnings at her, he’s only trying to seem aggressive because he’s hurt and confused by the cold shoulder she’s giving him and that breaks her heart. She casually begins chopping carrots and peppers. Opens her mouth to speak but ends up closing it without uttering a single word.

Frank doesn’t know what to do with this silence. It feels like somebody has wrapped his heart in barbed wire and every beat makes the pain worse. “Karen,” he pleads.

“We’re pretty sure we’ve found our most crucial witness,” she says. Casual. Cold.

“That’s great.” He sounds excited. Proud. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s great,” Karen replies, a knot wedged in her throat. Her eyes sting and she hasn’t even picked up the onions yet. If she tells him, he’s going to think her petty. He’s going to think she doesn’t trust him but she does. She trusts him with her life. But that woman’s face, her eyes set on him as he laughed, her body angling towards him, they make something stir in Karen’ stomach; a small, shapeless animal hissing while she tries to smother it. Her knuckles turn white with all the pressure she’s putting on the handle of the knife.

Suddenly, Frank is right behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, placing a trail of kisses on the back of her neck. “Tell me,” he whispers in her hair. “What did I do?”

She feels her anger melt away slowly, lumps of heat rising in the spots where he touches her. “I don’t like that woman,” she whines and sets the knife down.

“Do you know her?” he asks, resting his cheek on the spot his lips were touching a moment ago.

“Not really,” she tells him. “But I know her well enough to know that I don’t want to know her,” Karen says and curses herself for the utter lack of reason she’s demonstrating.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Frank admits.

“Well, not everything needs to make sense,” she says, trying to focus her thoughts in spite of how good his hands feel on her. She doesn’t exactly know how, but she notes Frank smirking against her skin.

“Are you jealous? Is that it?” he asks.

Well, of course she’s jealous but hearing him say it out loud makes it worse, it makes her want to defend herself.

He feels her body stiffen again and even though he shouldn’t, he chuckles, getting some kind of strange satisfaction at being wanted so badly. It doesn’t occur to him to question her trust in him. This woman once let him hold a gun to her head; there are no issues of trust here. He lets his hands roam down her thighs and senses she’s more willing to give in than she lets on. “You think I have eyes for anybody else?”

“You’d better not,” Karen tries to sound indifferent but her raspy voice betrays her. “I’d hate to become a widow at such a young age.”

Frank laughs, amused at the turn of events. “Why, what’s going to happen to me?” He kisses the spot behind her ear.

“Nothing that can be proven in a court of law,” she giggles softly, jealousy and anger toned down by now.

When she’s acting like this, all playful and lighthearted, Frank feels like the world is spinning faster on its axis, he feels giddy and lithe and longing for her. Sometimes, he wishes he could hold her so tight, tight enough so that their two bodies could meld into one and never be separated again. He wonders if that’s healthy, wonders if she feels the same. _She must feel the same, even if she’s never said so_.

In a fit of profound hunger, Frank spins Karen around in one swift movement, holding her gaze for a few seconds before attacking her mouth with his. Her initial surprise fades away quickly and she leans into him, forgetting what it was that upset her. She feels dizzy, weightless, nothing matters besides this set of lips, here, now. He could have her right there, pressed against the counter, if they were alone in the house. That thought makes him moderate his actions but the desire remains.

The kiss ends as suddenly as it began and Karen blinks a few times, slowly floating back to the ground. “I’m yours,” Frank whispers against her lips, making sure to brush them with his own for good measure. “I’m done. I’m yours,” he tells her and presses against her, trying to absorb fragments of her essence, against all logic. “Got that?” he asks finally.   

“Loud and clear,” Karen smiles dreamily.

At that exact moment, Rose, who has gotten used to their constant displays of affection, marches into the kitchen, dragging her voice as she lets them know she’s hungry.

“I’m on it, baby,” her mother says and Frank decides to lend a hand, which means they’ll be done in no time. They exchange meaningful looks and Karen knows she doesn’t need to make Frank pay for her brief, unreasonable agitation; but there are things unspoken within his glances and even though she’s already yielded to him, maybe she can be in charge of the punishing for one night.


	8. Chapter 8

Frank wakes up and realizes he has slept on the couch in a sitting position. He has no idea why but he can assume alcohol was involved; several hammers are banging inside his head and his mouth is dry. He tries to collect his scattered thoughts when a loud wheezing sound makes him jolt; David is snoring, his head on Frank’s lap, sleeping next to him in a loose fetal position. He can see Curtis sprawled on a couple of blankets on the floor. He’s also sound asleep and there are no signs as to that changing any time soon. A soft swish makes Frank turn his head to his left, where Karen is standing, bringing a finger to her lips to keep him quiet and motions for him to follow her. He gently lifts David’s head and gets up as slowly as possible, grabbing a cushion to replace him while the other man still sleeps. Karen is waiting for him in the kitchen with coffee and two tablets of Advil.

“Fun night,” she grins.

“Was it?” Frank groans.

The last thing he remembers clearly is Rose thanking Foggy for her miniature drum set, while he and Karen shot him menacing looks. “Yeah, thanks, Foggy,” Karen had said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

That’s a lie. The actual last thing he remembers is saying goodbye to their guests at the door, only now noting Curtis’s and David’s absence from the parting. He says so to Karen.

“That’s because they refused to leave without having another drink with you,” she explains. “The results of which you have already seen.”

“Were we loud?” he asks her, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

Karen remembers the muffled sounds of their cheeriness as she put Rose to bed, her daughter laughing and remarking she had never seen daddy act like this before. She had asked if they were bothering her, if she could sleep with all that noise. But the child had said no, they weren’t being so loud and she was too tired to mind anyway. Karen had kissed her goodnight and gone back to the living room.

“Not according to Rose,” she tells Frank and he examines her face for signs of lying, but all he can find is amusement.

He leans on the kitchen isle and rubs a large hand over his face, keeping his eyes closed. “Poor baby,” Karen coos,” you really are in a bad shape, aren’t you?” He grunts his acquiescence as she reaches her hand to massage his neck.

“At least I still remember my daughter’s birthday,” he says, immediately seeing her in his mind, beaming at them over the cake just before she blew out her candles. “That’s what matters most.”

“Sure is,” Karen chirps, hiding behind her coffee.

He looks up and scowls at her. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she chuckles.

“Come on, Page,” he sighs. “There’s obviously a story there but I don’t have the strength to drag it out of you right now.”

She leans forward and kisses his forehead. Her lips feel cool on his skin. “There’s no story, Frank. You just had fun with your friends.”

Then Frank starts remembering things in fragments, like pieces of a dream, fuzzy at the edges. He remembers hearing Karen rejoin the company while he was getting more beer for his buddies –and himself. He remembers David telling her “Frank said he loves me” and hears himself shouting “I never said that!” Curtis had started roaring with laughter and David had collapsed, face down on the couch, trying to catch his breath. “He did, he did,” he’d slurred his words while insisting to Karen that Frank had said, verbatim, that he has nice legs and he loves him.

“Never said that,” Frank had repeated as he shoved a beer in his friend’s hand, handing another one to Curtis. He’d thought about sitting down between them but his legs were a bit confused as to how walking could be achieved.

“Well,” she’d told him, “at least I’m going to lose you to a worthy adversary”.

Frank had scoffed, a bit more dramatically than he would have preferred. “Says the woman who gets jealous if other women so much as look at me,” and he had watched delightedly as her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He’d winked at her like an idiot, finally collapsing on the couch between his friends.

Curtis had whistled at this, reaching his long arm across Frank’s lap to tap David’s thigh. David, who was fighting very hard to suppress his giggles, had come undone at this comment. “Guess the romance is still alive after all this time,” Curtis had stated.

“Not for long,” she’d glared at Frank but his features were soft and relaxed and she couldn’t help but be charmed by that.

Then he remembers he had leaned forward, elbows on his knees, squinting his eyes in an effort to focus his blurry vision and told her, feeling like a teenager “I’m crazy about you too, baby”. _What was he thinking, talking to her like that in front of others_ , he wonders now and groans in frustration, rubbing his temples.

Karen watches, her eyes soft on him, as she waits for him to assemble his memories.

She’d gotten up to leave, Frank recalls, and he’d grabbed her hand to stop her; David and Curtis watching intently as he rose up to hold her. He’d twirled her once and she had laughed and then he’d dipped her and kissed her in front of their audience who had gasped in giddy shock.  Drunk as he had been, Frank hadn’t thought for a moment that he might drop her but she appeared to be considering her chances. “I got you,” he’d whispered close to her lips and Karen had felt safe in his strong arms, even though she was hovering over the floor for quite some time. He had seen it on her face, felt her soften and he hadn’t found the strength to hold back; he’d kissed her neck and the guys had made moderate sounds of approval. This sensible behavior had only lasted a moment and then they’d started clapping.

“Aww, they’re so cute,” David had poked fun at them.

Karen had tapped his arm and he’d raised her up in a more vertical position. She’d kissed him softly on the cheek and excused herself. She’d brought them blankets before going to bed; she was exhausted and they could stay up all night, laughing.  

“Karen, I’m so sorry,” he says.

“About what?”

“The things I did last night, you must have felt so embarrassed,” Frank sighs.

“At first,” she admits. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.”

As his headache begins its slow way towards subsiding, he meets Karen’s eyes and manages a small smile.

“That, however,” she points to the living room’s south wall, “might be my personal favorite.”

Frank looks to where she’s pointing and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets. On their formerly pristine white wall, drawn in bright red crayon, is an enormous heart, along with the phrase “F loves K”. He chokes on his own breath as the memory comes back to him.

“Did you do that?” Karen asks.

“No, that would be David’s artwork,” he growls. “In his defense, I didn’t try to stop him.”

In fact, he’d thought about stopping him but the more he’d looked at it the more he liked it. And as Curtis had also egged him on, Frank hadn’t come up with a reason why he shouldn’t do it. He would have never gone along with this had he been sober, but he was miles away from sobriety at the time. He blinks at Karen. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

“Oh, no no no,” Karen grins. “David will. If you want to help him, that’s fine, but I have to be firm with you boys, or else you’ll never learn.”

He laughs. He remembers laughing last night, at something Curtis said, remembers throwing one of Rose’s plastic toys at David and hitting him right in the middle of his forehead. And then he remembers to ask Karen if he did anything stupid while the kid was awake. Did he let anything slip, will she have questions for him that he won’t know how to answer?

“You did something stupid alright,” she tells him but doesn’t seem concerned.

“What? What did I-”

“You danced with her,” Karen says, her voice so soft he could wrap himself in it.

“Why is that stupid?” Frank asks.

“She’s going to want to do it again,” she explains.

Yeah, he can do that, he thinks. He won’t be any good but he can do it, whatever the kid wants. As soon as this headache goes away.

As though she could read his mind from the other room, Rose’s voice booms and bounces around the walls of his skull. “Daddy!” Faint grumbling is heard from the living room as the other two begin to stir, unable to withstand the sudden attack of her loud cry.

“Yeah, baby, coming,” he tells her, hoping she can hear him even though he can’t raise his voice to a sufficient level.

“Daddy!” she yells again. “I’m a musician!”

Frank immediately knows what is going to happen and is powerless to stop it. He looks at Karen, desperate and she nods. “Brace yourself,” she whispers a second before Rose starts banging on the drums. His two friends squirm and moan pitifully, covering their ears and begging for mercy. Karen rushes to their daughter’s room to try and stop her before the men’s heads explode.

“I’ll never drink again”, Frank mumbles to himself. But then he looks at the heart drawn on the wall, remembers dancing with his daughter and thinks, what’s the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild angst in the next chapter but not the worst I can do.


	9. Chapter 9

The trial of Paul Moretti is covered by every news outlet in the city. In a twist that surprises a lot of people but not Frank, the law firm that went against Moretti has come up with solid evidence against him and is about to secure a conviction, in spite of its lower status compared to others. Some say that he’ll probably get away with the minimum sentence but that’s not going to happen. Not when Nelson, Murdock and Page are involved.

Frank can’t turn up at court to admire his wife at work. A long time has passed since anyone has mentioned the Punisher but he can’t risk showing his face at a federal building, especially with all the cameras there. And since Rose is too young to attend as well, he’s happy to stay at home with the kid. Sometimes, he’ll let her see Karen on TV. Not that she is eager to be approached for a statement; Matt and Foggy do most of the talking but she’ll say something on occasion. Or she can be seen in the background, talking on the phone or noting things down as the other two hold the media’s attention. When Rose sees her mother on the screen, she turns to Frank full of pride, even if she can’t fully comprehend what’s happening. She just knows that mommy is doing something important, stops bad people from doing bad things.

When Karen returns home that night, she is met with abundant praise from her daughter, and Frank, who has never been one for words, just looks at her, smiling. Rose is set on monopolizing her however, wants to hear everything even though she can only be told a few basic things and that goes on until she finally drifts off to sleep. Karen takes off her shoes and tiptoes her way to the kitchen, where Frank is serving dinner.

“I am exhausted,” she tells him, pushing her cheek into his shoulder.

“You know, Karen,” he begins and corrects himself. “I mean, you know, right? Even if I don’t say it.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m so tired but you’re not making much sense,” she says.

He turns to her, fiddling with a towel to keep his hands busy. “You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?” he manages to disclose.

“Yes,” Karen says but her face glows as if this is new, exciting information. “I know, but thank you for saying it anyway.” She wraps her arms around him and sighs.

He rubs her back slowly. “Long day. Come on, let me feed you and take you to bed.”

Placing a brief peck on his chin, she purrs and grins. “Yes, please, take me to bed.”

Frank laughs and kisses her. “I thought you were exhausted.”

“I’ll never be exhausted enough to shirk my wifely duties,” she giggles.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he teases her.

Sure enough, after she’s had some food in her belly, her eyelids begin to close on their own. She makes a valiant effort to stay awake but eventually, she has to give in and allow Frank to carry her to bed. He undresses her carefully and, half asleep, she mumbles sentences without meaning which she definitely won’t remember in the morning. Frank lies next to her, pushes hair back from her slumbering face and she murmurs something incomprehensible again.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Write that down,” she says, drifting further into sleep.

“Write what down?”

“The thing. About the ducks.” It’s the last thing she says to him before completely shutting down and Frank tries very hard not to start laughing, for fear he’ll wake her up.

In the morning, as she’s getting ready to leave for work, he tells her all about it, not bothering to contain his laughter this time. She tries to remember why she’d say something like that but can’t figure out why she’d be thinking about ducks. “I don’t think I’ve ever talked in my sleep before,” she says.

“I’ve never heard you do it before and we’ve been sleeping together for a long time,” Frank confirms.

Karen looks at him and a shy smile forms on her lips. She grabs her coat and kisses him before heading to the door. There she stops, considering something for a moment and looks over her back. “You talk in your sleep,” she tells him.

“What do I say?” He’s genuinely curious and maybe a bit concerned. But she’s still wearing that smile, the thought of what she’s about to say coloring her cheeks, so how bad can it be?

“My name,” Karen says and doesn’t stick around to catch his stunned expression.

Much later, when he goes to pick Rose up from school, Frank resolves not to chance a look at any screen before Karen returns home, triumphant. He wants to hear her tell it, in her own animated way; the news will only give you the cold facts and he wants Karen’s full story. He realizes he misses her writing.

Rose is equally enthusiastic as they walk home together. She gestures and skips around because this is a big day for mommy, great things will happen, Rose is sure of it. And she’s elated now, too excited to walk, she says. Frank picks her up and has her sit on his shoulders. He’s not so young anymore and his back complains sometimes but he’ll carry that kid to the edge of the planet and back and still perceive her to be as light as a feather. But he does have to remind her not to kick while she’s sitting there.

“Sorry, daddy. I got too excited,” she says and lays her head on top of his, placing her small hands on each side of his face.

Back home they eat and talk about some cartoon dog she’s obsessed with lately. He doesn’t know much about it or at least, pretends not to, so that she can explain to him what’s so amazing about that particular dog, in great detail. He helps her draw; his help is limited to picking up the crayons that roll off the table and under the couch but it’s good enough. Karen is running late and he tries calling her, to ask when she’s getting home and if she wants anything special for dinner but it goes to voicemail. It’s odd but Frank tries not to worry too much. They’re probably up to their necks in paperwork, it’s fine, he tells himself. It’s a big day.

Rose asks to see if mommy is on TV again before bed and he wants to let her but it’s already late and she needs to brush her teeth. Tomorrow, he tells her. She pouts and does as she’s told, even though she drags her feet while doing it. Frank uses this opportunity to try Karen’s cell once more and when it goes to voicemail again, he tries Matt. No reply. This is bad, he thinks, but Rose comes sauntering out of the bathroom and he doesn’t have the luxury of reacting to his frustration.

As soon as the kid is asleep, he considers his options. He can’t just leave her and go searching for Karen. He decides to call her again; he has only just grabbed his phone when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Hey, Frank,” Foggy says and he lets him in without a word. If something terrible had happened, Foggy would be shaking, at the very least, Frank thinks as he examines his friend thoroughly; he looks tired, black circles under his eyes, hands in his pockets like he’s trying to hide something. Somehow he feels like this is taking too long.

“There’s been… an incident,” Foggy tells him at last.

Frank’s trigger finger twitches involuntarily. He tightens his hands until he can feel his fingernails digging into his skin.

“She’s fine,” Foggy reassures him, noticing the way Frank is glaring at him. “Really, she’s fine.”

Frank finds his voice. “What kind of incident?”

“We were on our way out. There was a large crowd, lots of people talking all at once, it was overwhelming,” he says and his hands start shaking. “We didn’t see him until it was too late, until the knife was already too close. I tried to pull her behind me but I was too slow. I think he was aiming for Matt.” He looks at him with those innocent, clear eyes and in that moment, Frank realizes, Foggy doesn’t know which is worse. But Frank knows. And apparently, it has already happened.

“Where is she?” he says and becomes conscious of his own shaking, like something is trying to burst out of him, something that has been asleep for a long time.

“Still in the hospital,” he replies.

“What did he do to her?” Frank presses.

“He… he stabbed her,” he mutters and then he says again “But she’s fine.” Like this is a mantra that’s supposed to affect him in some way. In truth, it isn’t doing anything besides pushing him further towards the boiling point.

Frank approaches him slowly and Foggy takes a few steps back. “How can she be fine if she was stabbed?” he snarls.

Foggy raises his hands. “It’s what she told me to say. ‘Tell him I’m fine, he doesn’t have to worry’. I told her there’s no way that will suffice with you but you know she doesn’t listen. I told her we should give you a call, that you’d be worried sick,” he’s almost shrieking now. “She insisted I come here. She said news like that is best delivered in person. But there’s no good way to deliver news like that, is there?” He makes an honest effort to chuckle but what comes out is more like a whimper.

Through the haze of his own emotions, Frank realizes how Foggy must be feeling. He was there when it happened, he’s still in shock and Frank has scared him even more. He unclenches his fingers and grabs Nelson by the arms.

“Hey,” Frank tells him. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Foggy responds and hangs his head. “But-”

Frank applies pressure on his arms; not too much, just enough. “If you tell me she’s fine one more time, I swear I’m going to lose it,” he tells him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Foggy says, escaping his grip. He shakes his shoulders like he’s trying to get rid of something that’s perched there but Frank can see it isn’t working.

“What else were you told to say?” he asks. His apathetic tone comes as a surprise even to himself. It makes him sound unperturbed, when in reality he feels like the sky has begun crumbling down. 

“That was the gist of it,” Foggy reassures him.

“Anything else you want to share with me, Nelson?”

A dark cloud descends upon Foggy’s features; he’s been trying to hold back until now but he’s too tired to keep doing it. “Just that she was scared, Frank,” he says and his voice breaks. “She was scared she wouldn’t come back home.”

No matter how much he appreciates being told the truth, Frank’s heart shatters at those words. Getting hurt is one thing; he knows his wife is a fighter and she’s gotten herself into a lot of trouble over the years. And she’s been scared before, even though she’s tried to hide it. But this is a different kind of fear. He thinks about her bleeding –this alone is enough to make his blood boil- and recognizing the very real possibility of never seeing her daughter, never being safe in bed with her husband again. A strangled sound escapes his throat. She’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine; he repeats the incantation inside his head but it’s not helping.

Foggy’s hand on his shoulder snaps him out of the horrors his mind is conjuring up. “I’ll stay here, in case Rose wakes up. You need to go be with Karen,” he tells him.

***

At the hospital, Frank is greeted by an unusually grim Matt. He has to remind himself that this man can hear everything, from the sound of his teeth gritting to the acceleration of his pulse, so he has to make extra effort to be composed. How he’s going to manage that is beyond him but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to try.

Two stab wounds to the abdomen, some doctor informs him before rushing off, but no organs punctured, which is good. It also means the guy who attacked her was an amateur, Frank thinks; if he knew what he was doing, he would have aimed for the chest. He doesn’t like thinking this way, evaluating which spot could have proved to be more lethal while discussing Karen’s health. Matt doesn’t waste time apologizing for not letting him know sooner, he just makes sure to disclose everything to him now: she was bleeding heavily, she was operated on and, the bottom line, she really is fine. Frank hates that people keep telling him this when he still hasn’t seen her. His chest starts feeling too tight, his heart is suffocated and he curses under his breath when Matt’s head jolts up, meaning he’s picked up on the unseen evidence of his agony.

He opens his mouth to call him by his real name but stops himself just in time. “Pete,” he says and that’s good, it helps him assume some kind of detachment from this whole situation, for about two seconds. “You know I’m going out to find him,” Matt tells him, meaning it as some kind of comfort.

“Yeah, you do that,” Frank says. “And then you leave him to me.” He is vaguely aware that Matt is complaining when he starts making his way towards Karen but it doesn’t matter. They both know what will happen eventually.

He makes a point of keeping his back turned to Karen as he closes the door to her room; for all their talk of how well she is, he’s not ready to look at her yet. Her voice when she says his name is like music to his ears, even though she sounds weak and weary. Frank leans his head against the cool material of the door and inhales deeply, trying to compose himself. “Damn it, Page” he says and turns to face her.

She’s trying to sit up higher in bed, wincing while she’s doing it, but her face lights up at the sight of him. He has never seen her look so broken before and he wants to choke the life out of the man who did this. He crosses the distance to her in a split second, holds her hand tightly and brings it up to his lips as his lungs start expanding and contracting rapidly. With as much strength as she can muster, she kisses his face, stifling a groan of discomfort. “Baby,” she whispers, a term of endearment reserved for special occasions. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” Even during this, she only cares about his well-being; it makes him feel ashamed.

_Don’t break down now_ , he silently orders himself. _This isn’t about you._

“How are you feeling?” he asks her, using his free hand to stroke her cheek, her hair, her arm.

“Completely drained,” Karen says. “How is Rose?”

“She doesn’t know. She was already asleep when Foggy came.”

She closes her eyes and sighs in relief. Frank realizes he’s still squeezing her hand and reluctantly eases his grasp on it.

“I’m sorry,” Karen tells him when she opens her eyes again. Her bottom lip is trembling.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” he tries to soothe her.

“I should have called you. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She buries her face in his chest and starts crying.

“Yeah, that was stupid,” Frank makes an attempt at sounding casual, normal, not thoroughly and entirely devastated like he feels.

Karen chuckles softly through her tears. “I was afraid I’d never…” she tries to say but he interrupts her.

“Don’t think about that,” he says. “It’s over.” But he knows it isn’t. It won’t be over until he’s found the creep who thought he could touch one hair on her head and get away with it. The fingers of the hand which is now resting on her thigh begin twitching again. He has enough presence of mind to stop but not enough speed to keep Karen in the dark about his intentions.

She throws her head up immediately, her piercing gaze uncovering secrets he hasn’t even admitted to himself yet and says “No”. Frank opens his mouth to justify himself but she goes on. “You’re needed here, Frank” she says, pressing her forehead to his. He thinks she sounds desperate and hates himself for adding to her pain.

“Did you think I was going to leave you?” he asks but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m not going anywhere.” _Yet_ , he thinks but doesn’t tell her.

“Okay,” Karen whispers and leans on him, letting out a long breath as he reaches an arm around her back to pull her closer to him. “Moretti got life in prison,” she tells him after a while.

“Good job, Page,” he responds tenderly.

“Frank, I want to go home,” she whines in his neck.

If it was up to him, he’d pick her up and take her home to their bed in an instant. But it isn’t up to him and that’s for the best because what she needs right now is trained staff and medication, things he can’t provide. “As soon as the doctors allow it,” he tells her, thinks it sounds patronizing, hates himself more and more, feels useless. But she clings to him like a lifeline and that has to mean something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst is leaking into the next chapter but it won't last too long.


	10. Chapter 10

There’s no avoiding bringing Rose to see her mother the next day. Waking up with both her parents gone, even if her beloved Foggy was there to make her feel better, has triggered an incredible change of personality. When Frank goes home to grab some of Karen’s things and offer some kind of explanation that should make sense to the kid, she throws a tantrum for the very first time in her life. She screams at him and kicks his leg; he gets it, he’d react in a similar way if he could. When she’s all done yelling at him but still seething, he kneels down and says he understands why she’s acting like this and he’s sorry that she’s upset but mommy needs them to work together. “Please, sweetheart. I don’t want to fight,” Frank tells her. His precious child dissolves into tears and hugs him, apologizing and begging to see her mother. He can’t possibly say no to that.

As Karen is already looking much better, there’s no reason why Rose should suffer any shock; having her daughter walk into the room makes her look like the happiest person alive and that helps a lot too. Rose asks if she can snuggle up to her mother in bed and Karen is about to say yes, but Frank is having none of it. He helps the kid stand up on a chair and that’s the closest he’ll allow her to get. It feels cruel doing that to them but when they both turn to glare at him, he is even more determined that he’s not going to enable their shenanigans.

Karen avoids the topic of her injury as much as possible. She focuses instead on telling her daughter minor details about the outcome of the trial, complains about hospital food and asks her about school. Rose, a naturally loquacious child, takes over and begins chattering, while Karen looks at her adoringly. Diverting her attention seems to be easier than they thought, especially after she’s been reassured that her mother is not in pain.

“Like when I hit my head?” she remarks and they’re both surprised she remembers it.

“Exactly like that,” Karen lies.

Frank arranges for the Liebermans to take Rose for the weekend. He feels bad when he calls to ask for the favor but he can’t turn to anyone else. David calls him an idiot for saying that and tells him that Rose will like staying with them so much, she might decide to never leave.

“Dream on,” Frank tells him, sounding rough but he appreciates their help more than words can say. He’s worried that Rose will protest against this arrangement but Leo’s presence is enticing enough to convince her without much struggle.

Matt shows up to see how Karen is doing. He brings flowers. Not white roses, some kind of washed-out pink perennial that’s going to wither in a day or two. Frank notes that the lawyer avoids him for most of his visit. If he has a name, he’s not going to share it with him. That’s fine, he thinks. He would have been surprised if Matt had offered that piece of information easily.

Looking and feeling better, Karen itches to get out of there but the doctors suggest one more day of hospitalization and she has to go along with it, partly because Frank growls at her from his chair.

“What am I supposed to do here all day?” she complains.

“Relax and get better, if that’s not too much to ask,” he grumbles.

“Am I going to get anything in exchange for my good behavior?” she teases him.

“Is staying in the hospital when you have to stay in the hospital considered good behavior?” Frank chuckles despite himself. Seeing her like this is good, it makes the whole ordeal seem like it’s far behind them.

“It absolutely is,” Karen insists.

“Okay then,” he says. “You stay put and I’ll get you some ice cream.”

“Yay,” she says in the most uninterested, dull tone she can summon but makes sure to request a specific flavor before he’s gone too far to hear her.

Frank returns shortly after with a cup of chocolate ice cream and gets a kiss in return. As Karen digs in, he goes to sit beside her but decides to shuffle over to the window instead. The view is nothing special but that’s not what draws him there in the first place. He wants to tell her what he’s planning to do as soon as he sees her safely home because that’s the deal, no lies between them. But he dreads doing it at the same time. He’s fully aware of what he’ll be risking if he goes through with it. _If_ , he thinks. Who the hell is he trying to fool?

Throwing himself into war had been easier in the past. He had nothing to lose except his life and he hadn’t thought of it as valuable. There are things at stake now, things he cherishes. He turns around, finding Karen peculiarly focused on her treat and he suspects she’s trying to avoid looking at him too. Frank rubs his eyes slowly and sighs. He could always change his mind, try and forget this whole thing happened in the first place. His heart starts pounding ferociously in his chest.

“Talk to me, Frank,” Karen says as though sensing his agitation.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I know that look, remember?” she pushes. “There’s not much you can hide from me anymore.”

He chuckles nervously. “I wasn’t trying to,” he tells her and then “I don’t think I need to.”

“Does my opinion on the subject matter?” she asks in earnest.

He gawks at her, his brows snapping together. It feels like she’s slapped him in the face, if he’s being honest. It feels like she doesn’t know him at all. “Of course it does.”

Karen nods once. “Do you want to know what I gained when you decided to stop being the Punisher, Frank?” she says in a hushed tone. “Besides our life together I mean.” She pauses for a moment, biting her bottom lip. “The knowledge that you were alive. Safe. That’s what was most important to me. You could have picked anybody but me and I’d still be delighted at the thought that you are out there, living your life.”

Frank approaches her hesitantly and notices her eyes, shimmering with tears. “There could never be anybody else,” he tells her, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

She hums softly. “I know. But that is not the point. The point is you want to take that certainty away from me now.”

His expression darkens. “I don’t want to hurt you, Karen. I never did.”

“But you are close enough to do it, Frank. You need to remember that,” she admonishes and turns away from him. This discussion is over.

He sits down in the extremely uncomfortable chair by her bed and rests his chin on his clenched hands. He mulls over Karen’s little confession, tries to reach that rational part of his brain which will take heed of her warning but can’t seem to find it. She’s only worried about the possibility of him getting hurt and that problem is easy to solve; he will just have to not get hurt. Of course, it’s always possible that it won’t matter, when all is said and done. She might still wash her hands off him in the end and then he’ll have nothing left. Frank wants to believe that she would never do that but she’s forgiven too many things already. Maybe this will be the final blow.

He looks over to find she has fallen asleep, pumped with antibiotics and painkillers. Her peaceful face makes him want to cry. He has watched her sleeping peacefully next to him for years and now he can’t bear to think this simple pleasure could have been stolen from him if the blade had been longer or plunged deeper. Even though he's avoided doing it, he decides to search for footage of the attack online. The video is easy enough to find but sickening to watch. Seeing Karen’s face when the knife pierces her stomach is all Frank needs to make up his mind. He sends the link to David and adds a short message. “Find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit more angst to go, bear with me.


	11. Chapter 11

_The mattress feels stiff and cold under his body and as Frank tries to turn around to wrap an arm around his wife’s waist, he becomes aware of the soreness of his limbs. His bones creak with discomfort._

_“Karen?”_

_There’s no answer when he calls her name a second and a third time. He realizes he’s alone in their room which is steeped in darkness and still as the grave. Something rustles behind him. Frank tries to focus on the sound, to at least distract himself from this terrible feeling that he is powerless to remedy Karen’s absence. He calls out to her again, his voice breaking._

_The voice that answers isn’t Karen’s. It’s a sound from a time long ago that he remembers fondly but doesn’t associate with guilt anymore. “Where are you, Frank?” Maria whispers. She doesn’t approach him, standing just outside the boundary of his peripheral vision and that’s okay with him, he only wants to find Karen. “Never mind me. Where’s my wife?” he asks. He senses her leave and though he believed that would be better, he’s now very afraid that he’ll be stuck in this dark place all alone._

_A scream pierces the thick silence and Frank begins hyperventilating. Karen screams again and again, she sounds terrified and he tries to run to her but he’s weighed down by heavy chains and no matter how determined he is to find her, he can’t move an inch. He feels his muscles tearing with exertion. Karen screams one last time and Frank thinks of Rose, waiting for them to come home only to be told that they’re both gone for good. He wants to cry but the pain in his chest is so intense that his lungs collapse._

Frank jolts awake, covered in sweat. It takes him some time to realize where he is but when his eyes rest on Karen’s sleeping form, reality takes hold of him and the dream begins to fade away. Even though his knees are weak, he walks over to her and brushes hair back from her forehead with shaky hands. She sighs softly in her sleep as Frank holds his breath. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have watched that video.

Karen is discharged the next day and she’s more than happy to go home. In the car, she talks about going back to work and Frank doesn’t say anything to ruin her little fantasy; even if Matt and Foggy were willing to bring her in so soon, which they aren’t, the doctors would frown upon the notion, at the very least. He helps her into bed and she purrs like a cat, snug under her favorite blanket. When he kisses her forehead, his lips linger a moment too long on her skin and she sighs blissfully.

Frank doesn’t bring up Dennis Kane, whose name and current location David sent to him first thing in the morning. Karen saw the way he looked at his phone when the message came, she knows what it’s all about but aside from casting a serious look in his direction, she doesn’t raise the subject again either. The decision has been made anyway.

She asks about Rose and when he’s going to bring her home; they should all be together, she says. “She’s having too much fun with Leo, I don’t think she wants to come back,” he says, a little bit annoyed that David wasn’t completely wrong about their daughter’s affections.

“She’s going to want to come back when she learns mommy is back too,” Karen tells him.

“Yeah, but I thought mommy could use a day of rest without a child bouncing on the mattress,” he teases her and she reluctantly agrees. He lies beside her, hands crossed on his stomach and exhales slowly. “It is way too quiet though,” he grins.

“I know,” she laughs in response. “I’m torn between missing her and enjoying the silence. I guess I’m a terrible mother for wanting this to last a little bit longer.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it.” He gently swats her thigh and she laughs again. Then he gives her his hand and when their fingers intertwine, Frank realizes how much he missed being in bed with her, doing absolutely nothing, even if she was only in the hospital for a couple of days. He pulls her hand to his chest and holds it there, thinking of things he’d like to say about what he would do if he’d lost her and  how happy he feels in this quiet moment with her but feeling surprisingly inarticulate.

“Something’s on your mind,” she prompts.

Frank slides under her arm and inches his face as close to her neck as he can, careful not to hurt her. He inhales deeply and her overflowing scent makes him feel more at ease, even with the added hospital tang.

“Frank?”

He moans in response, too choked up to produce words.

“I missed you too,” Karen tells him.

***

They spend the day in bed, smiling to each other like it’s another ordinary day. He brings her food and even tries to help her eat but Karen complains that she’s not a baby. Understanding she’s entitled to her dignity, Frank lets her do it herself, though it pains him to see her wincing every now and then as her injury reminds her not to overdo it. They speak to Rose on the phone, very careful not to mention they’re home but making sure to tell her that they’ll all be together again by tomorrow. Karen thanks Sarah a million times for taking care of the kid and when the other woman tells her what a joy Rose is to have around, her face becomes bright like the sun. She knows and she wants that joy back, Karen thinks but doesn’t tell her.

By seven, she is so exhausted she has to fight to keep her eyes open. Whether it’s because she’s being her usual stubborn self or because she knows Frank plans on going hunting the moment she’s asleep, he can’t tell. Either way, she needs her rest and Frank sits with her, whispering words of comfort in her ear until her breath starts coming out evenly. He gets up to leave and wonders what’s going to happen if she needs anything while he’s gone but, if the previous two days are any indication, she’ll end up sleeping through the night and won’t even know he left. On his way out, he thinks about the few guns he’s got locked in the shed, considers grabbing one of them even though they haven’t been used or even cleaned in a long time. No, he concludes, this is the kind of thing he has to do with his bare hands.

The warehouse looks abandoned when he parks outside but a tiny light is coming from one of the windows, so he knows where he’s headed. He makes sure to stick to the shadows; he doesn’t think there are any security cameras in the area but it’s better to play it safe. Only after he’s reached the door separating him and his target, does Frank stop to think about his chances. And they’re not great.

Construction work has kept him in relatively good shape but he hasn’t been training at all. And even though his hands are itching to smash Kane’s face, it was stupid not to bring a gun with him. He hopes the man is alone. If he has company, Frank might end up dying in this place and he doesn’t like that prospect. Karen’s face pops up in his head, distorted with the surprise and pain of the stabbing. Fueled by rage, Frank kicks the door open.   

Kane has jumped back at the sound and is now trying to make out the face of the man who’s charged in, roaring like an animal. Frank sees a crow bar not far away from the man but no other weapons. Unless he has a knife on him he’ll need to avoid when it comes out, it seems like the fight is going to be as fair as possible. Frank is beginning to like his chances more and more. He runs into Kane, taking pleasure in the sharp breath leaving his body on impact and tackles him to the floor. The man tries to slither away but Frank is already sitting on him, knees clamped on each side of his torso. He soon realizes he’s pinned, there’s no way out.

“Wh- what do you want?” Kane asks, out of breath. “Who sent you? Who are you, man?”

Frank examines his face. He looks terrified but it’s not enough. Kane’s fear has to match the expression on Karen’s face when he stabbed her. He grunts and punches his chin with enough force to hurt him but keep him lucid, can’t knock him out just yet. The man starts crying and Frank grabs his jaw, moving in closer to his face.

“Take a good look,” he growls and the effect it has on Kane’s face tells him he’s old enough to remember a time when the Punisher was still very real and feared.

“Please, I didn’t do anything!” the man begs.

Frank lets out a bitter laugh and squeezes Kane’s jaw tighter. “Didn’t do anything?” he rumbles. “Didn’t you stab Karen Page?” He watches as the man’s eyes widen and before he has the chance to try and deny it, Frank punches him again. The rat whines and sniffles and instead of making Frank take pity, the sound makes his chest swell. He lets another punch land on Kane’s face before his senses warn him of somebody else’s presence. Frank looks around but can’t see anything. He’s still holding on to his prey when he hears his name being called. His head snaps up.

Crouched on a steel beam above, as high and mighty as Frank remembers from their past, is Daredevil. In the gloominess of the setting, it’s not easy to discern his features but Frank is willing to bet anything that Murdock is looking down at him with pity. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells him.

Frank wants to laugh at him. “But I want to,” he responds.

Mistakenly thinking that Daredevil would be able to save him, Kane begins to squirm as his crying becomes louder. Frank grabs his head with both hands and slams it against the floor; that should keep him quiet for a moment. “You want to stop me?” he looks back at Murdock. “This worm attacked Karen. Nobody touches Karen,” Frank spits. “I’ll die before I let him walk away.”

Matt sighs. “I can take him to the police. You’ve caught him, you can let me take it from here.”

Frank drops his head and starts laughing violently. The sound of his laughter as it echoes across the empty space seems unfamiliar to him. “Your way is good and my way is bad, right, Matt?” he says after a while. “Well, my way helps me sleep at night.”

“Frank,” Daredevil begins- and it is Daredevil now, detached from their friendship, his duty the only thing that matters.

 “He could have killed her,” he addresses his friend behind the mask.

“But he didn’t.”

“He wanted to. Why does he get to do what he wants but I don’t? Because I can actually finish the job?” Frank barks. “I’m lost without Karen,” he tells him, a phrase never spoken between them before. He’s not sure Matt has known anyway, maybe he’s figured it out on his own. But it appears to strike a nerve regardless. “I’m lost without her,” he says again and hates how broken he sounds. He takes a deep breath and when he looks back up, Matt is gone.   

Frank slaps Kane back into consciousness. The man whimpers, tries to plead for his life.

_“There’s been… an incident.”_

His knuckles groan as he slams them into Kane’s face again and again. Blood shoots in his own face, Frank can taste it on his lips.

_“She was scared she wouldn’t come back home.”_

His mind is full to the brim with images of Karen, their wedding day, her leaning over her lap top while she did research, smiling to him, playing with Rose. He keeps pummeling Kane until he can’t hear the sound of bones crashing anymore, until his knuckles inform him of the squelching wetness that’s left of what once was a face. Later, when he’ll think about what happened, he’ll find he has no regrets. Panting, Frank drags himself away and decides to go home.

The house is drenched in darkness and the neighborhood is quiet and peaceful; that’s good because if anybody saw him right now, they’d run screaming. He’s been soaked in blood before, worse than this even, but anyone who knows Pete Castiglione wouldn’t be able to reconciliate this image with the soft spoken neighbor they’re used to. Frank carefully closes the door behind him, mindful of waking Karen but he’s surprised to hear the sound of muffed crying coming from their bedroom. He wants to go to her but if she sees him like this…

“Karen?” he calls out and she immediately stops crying.

“I thought you were gone,” she says.

His feet drag him to her. Maybe she needs something, maybe the painkillers have worn off and she’s in pain. Outside of their room, he stands at the door, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides.

Karen’s face is turned towards him. He doesn’t know how much of him she can see with the minor help of what little light is coming through the window, but she gasps and Frank realizes that she can see enough to worry. That makes him freeze in his spot. “Are you hurt?” she asks. He shakes his head and thinking that perhaps the movement is imperceptible in the dark, he opts for verbal communication. Before he has the chance to even open his mouth, he hears the faint click of the lamp switch and the room is suddenly illuminated. It hurts his eyes and he takes a step back.

“Oh, Frank,” Karen says, covering her mouth as her eyes fill with tears again.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he tells her, kneeling beside her. His hand hovers over hers for a second but he realizes he can’t touch her like this, not with all that blood drying on his skin.

Karen starts crying harder, thinking that he doesn’t want to touch her, afraid that having tasted blood again he might go running back to a life that has no place for her in it. Sensing her panic, Frank doesn’t know how to comfort her. He can’t excuse himself to take a shower while she’s in such a state. This could be pushing her to her limits, he thinks, already imagining her handing him a bag with his clothes and telling him to get lost. He hangs his head, waiting for the verdict and barely stops himself from sobbing when her delicate fingers land on the back of his neck.

“Where are you, Frank?” Karen asks him.

A few tears manage to escape his eyes when he tells her “I’m here, I’m home.” Disregarding the white sheets, he climbs into bed next to her, holds on to her thigh because he can’t put an arm around her waist, strokes any bit of hers that won’t hurt to touch. She kisses him and he feels grateful. He’ll throw away the sheets in the morning, he’ll buy her new ones, white and soft and untarnished. And he will never make her cry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Why do people need to suffer for me to fulfill my artistic expression needs?  
> My boyfriend: They are not people, they're just characters.  
> Me: They are people TO ME.
> 
> Angst done for now.


	12. Chapter 12

Rose wants to be much more vocal in her excitement to be returning home but her father’s heavily bruised hands put a damper on that. She is observing them, as they casually control the steering wheel, from the back seat of the car when Frank catches her eye in the rearview mirror. The smile appearing on his lips takes a moment to reach his eyes but it does and that’s what matters.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asks with his soft, reassuring voice.

“Your hands,” she says and realizes that wasn’t what she meant to say, daddy’s hands aren’t wrong.  It’s a thing she has been more sensible about lately, that the way something sounds in our heads isn’t necessarily how it comes out, so she makes an effort to correctly express her thoughts. “I mean they look different,” she explains.

“Yeah, I know,” Frank chuckles. “I had an accident at work, a really bad fall but I’m okay now. You don’t need to worry about it.”

And because daddy says so, she doesn’t worry about it anymore.

“You have no idea how happy your mom is to see you,” he continues. “She missed you a lot.”

“Me too,” Rose perks up and then begins chattering about Leo and all the fun they had. Frank is sure she’s going to repeat everything to Karen, maybe even using the exact same words. Good, he thinks, it should give them something to talk about that has nothing to do with injuries and stress. She’s out of the car and running straight to her mother the moment he’s parked. Frank, who doesn’t feel like sprinting to catch up to her, can hear her loud chirping accompanied by Karen’s bubbly laughter very clearly before he even reaches the door.  

He finds them locked in a comfortable embrace; Karen has probably already clarified that she’s not in shape for tight hugs yet and Rose opts for gently rubbing her arms and touching her tiny fingers to her mother’s face as delicately as she can. Karen closes her eyes, reveling in her daughter’s affection. Frank thinks she could get high on that sensation alone. He almost feels the same just by looking at the two of them. She opens her eyes slowly, small digits still stroking her face, and smiles to him with an expression that feels like gratitude.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells Karen before placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “I just drove her here. You made her.”

“Yeah, and I had no help with that,” Karen laughs and Frank isn’t sure whether it’s because he’s not allowed to argue or doesn’t want to that he doesn’t say a word to contradict her.

They set up some ground rules before he has to leave for work: no bouncing on the bed next to mom, no sneaking outside while mom’s not looking and generally help if she needs something. “I can still do things on my own, you know,” Karen protests but Rose agrees to everything and promises to be on her best behavior. He’s still allowed to worry though, isn’t he, Frank thinks when he drives away.

But Rose actually is on her best behavior. She brings her toys in their room and plays on the floor by the bed, talks about Leo some more and when she decides to draw, she takes extra care with the crayons so that they don’t roll under the bed. When Karen decides to get up to get some water, Rose rushes to the kitchen before her mother has had the chance to put one foot on the floor and returns triumphant with a half full glass of water. She says she can go back for more if Karen is still thirsty. “I just didn’t want to spill any,” she tells her. Karen tries not to laugh at her daughter’s effort to be all grown up and responsible; it’s adorable to watch really and she has to wonder if they taught her that or if she’s picked it up on her own.

Unavoidably though, Rose ends up getting restless. It only becomes evident when she starts fidgeting; it’s as though this child never complains, a trait which Karen believes was inherited from Frank. As she’s beginning to feel tired herself, Karen asks her daughter to pick a book for them to read and so they spend the rest of their time together reading ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’. Karen goes on reading out loud even after Rose, lying on her back with all of her limbs stretched out, has fallen asleep next to her, like a perfect little starfish. When her daughter is agitated, she tends to wake up shortly after falling asleep and she needs to make sure this isn’t going to happen now. She manages another fifteen minutes of reading before admitting defeat and surrendering herself to sleep as well.  

Frank comes home to his sleeping beauties sometime in the early evening. They stir lazily and look at him lovingly even though they’re still groggy from sleep. “Want to help me bring mom some pizza?” he asks and Rose is instantly fully awake and jumping on the bed. He’s about to remind her the no bouncing on the bed clause of their agreement but Karen interrupts him.

“Let the kid jump, it’s okay,” she says, not wincing at all.

***

Thus begins a long procession of days –or, most accurately, nights- that see Frank sleeping alone on the couch while his two girls sleep in the big bed together. He doesn’t complain once. His back is sore and he misses Karen dreadfully but this is what they need for now and he’s going to let them have it. Something in the back of his mind cautions him against letting Rose carry on with this new sleeping habit; when the time comes to end it, all hell might break loose. But he thinks they can handle it and so does Karen.

One of those nights, Curtis drops by for a visit. Knowing how protective Frank is of his family, he thought it best to let them have some time alone before checking in on them. Discreet as he has been though, the time has come to see how his friend is handling things. Frank is sitting on the front step when he arrives, beers already waiting.

“You took your time,” he says, half smiling.

“I had to stop for flowers,” Curtis explains, showing off the potted plant in his hands. “African violets.”

Its purple flowers are striking and Frank thinks they’re quite lovely to look at. “You didn’t have to bring me flowers,” he quips as Curtis puts the plant down and sits next to him. Frank hands him a beer and takes a sip from his bottle.

“Good, because they’re for Karen,” Curtis laughs. “How is she doing?”

Frank nods. “Better, much better.”

Curtis can tell that even though his friend seems relaxed at the moment, the shock of the attack on Karen has left its mark. Despite foreseeing the answer he’s going to get, he feels like he needs to ask anyway. “Do you think you might join the group again, Frank?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me. I get my therapy at home,” Frank replies heartily.

“Yeah? So everything is still good?” he prods for answers, though his friend’s sincere reaction has put him at ease.

“What do you mean ‘still’? Why wouldn’t things still be good?” he pretends to take offense. “Things are great.”

“I don’t know, man,” Curtis persists, chuckling as he is affected by Frank’s good mood. “Karen Page has always been too good for you.”

Frank’s head drops. He twists the beer bottle in his hands. “You think I don’t know that?” he groans.   

“Hey, now.” Curtis’s hand rests on his shoulder and squeezes. “You know I didn’t mean that, I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re right though, you’re right,” he responds and gulps down some beer. Frank runs his large hand over his face and sighs. “Ten years I’ve been with this girl, man. Every morning I wake up next to her, I thank…” he gestures vaguely towards the sky, “whoever has deemed me worthy of this gift.”

Curtis raises his eyebrows. “I think that was Karen.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I know how lucky I am,” he says and takes another sip from his bottle.

“Ten years is a long time,” the other man states and resumes his joking tone. “I couldn’t put up with you for more than five.” He chuckles and Frank elbows him, laughing himself.

“Our anniversary is coming up, next week,” Frank says after a moment of silence.

“Are you going to ask me what to get her? Because I can tell you right now, I have no idea,” Curtis hurries to reply and is surprised to hear Frank laughing again.

“Me neither, buddy,” he tells his friend, a mellow smile softening his features and Curt is fooled, for a split second, into thinking that this Frank who’s talking to him now, is a Frank untouched by hardship.

“Well, at the risk of sounding like an old romantic fool,” Curtis says, “I believe the only thing Karen has ever wanted from you, is your heart,” he finishes, refusing to be embarrassed at speaking about emotions. If Frank wants to feel embarrassed, then so be it. But he just smiles in response, which makes Curtis wonder for a moment what sort of magic Karen Page has worked on this once raging man.

“I guess she really likes me, huh?”

“I guess so, Frank,” he says. “And how about the kid? What does she think of you?” a question that doesn't really need to be asked.

Curtis feels inclined to attribute the new expression on Frank’s face to alcohol but one beer hardly even counts as alcohol. Frank’s face lights up even more and a tear is caught in the corner of his eye but he isn’t going to mention it and break the spell.

“She thinks I’m the bestest daddy in the world,” Frank says. “Her words, not mine,” he hurries to add.

“Well, let’s drink to your girls then,” Curtis says and raises his bottle.

Frank imitates his movement. “To my girls,” he says and takes a swig. His chest swells with emotion and he thinks he might burst.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to atone for all the bad stuff. Tell me you forgive me.


	13. Chapter 13

“I could drop by the office for a couple of hours, do a bit of work and be back in time for lunch,” Karen tells him a few days later.

Frank says no but this is an integral part of their relationship: he says no and she explains to him why he’s wrong and how she’s going to go ahead and do what she wants anyway. There’s no point in turning it into a fight. She’s already up and moving about unassisted, she pushes him away when he tries to grab stuff for her and being cooped up frustrates her. She needs to feel productive again and as much as Frank wants to, he can’t keep trying to be a shield between her and life. He sighs in defeat.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she says, probably forgetting that she was lying in a hospital bed, not too long ago.

“There’s always something to worry about, Page,” Frank groans but she silences him with a kiss and his objections fly out the window.

“I’m too stubborn to die,” she says afterwards. “Besides, tomorrow is our anniversary. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

After being allowed the small victory of at least driving her to work, Frank has time to obsess over how terribly inadequate their anniversary celebrations have been over the years. Inadequate might not be the right word for it; nonexistent seems more accurate. But they were always busy and then there was the matter of having a baby which turned into raising a child and, almost idiotically, Frank always forgot. Again, not the right word. He always remembered but it seemed to him that something hurried and tasteless wasn’t good enough for Karen. She’s never complained about it, never even implied she might expect something from him besides acknowledging the day.

His phone starts buzzing in a manner more irritating than usual. It makes sense when he looks at the screen.

“So, Curtis and I have been talking,” David says without bothering to greet him first.

“Since when do you and Curtis talk, Lieberman?” Frank asks.

“It was about time somebody saw my worth, since you don’t seem to,” he laughs. “Curtis is mine now.”

“Has he brought you flowers?” Frank plays along. “He brought me flowers.”

“He-” David pauses for dramatic effect. “Well, my feelings are definitely hurt but I still have a proposal for you, Frank. We here, at the Lieberman household, have an opening tomorrow night, in case someone needs a babysitter.”

Frank almost feels ashamed at hearing this.

“You’re apparently too dense to get it so I’m going to spell it out for you,” David begins and continues speaking more slowly, as though talking to a baby. “You can bring Rose over and celebrate your anniversary with your wife, like normal people who do normal things, normally.”

“Listen, buddy, I really appreciate it but I couldn’t-”

“Yeah, I know you couldn’t, that’s why I’m telling you. It’s no trouble, Frank,” he insists.

“You took care of her practically a week ago, David. It’s too soon. It’s too much to ask,” Frank tells him, failing to mention it’s too kind of them to offer. He should get better with telling people how he feels. He might, eventually.

“Nonsense, we like having Rose over. We love her,” David dismisses him and Frank notes that his tone seems more serious. “We love you.”

This is an opportunity to get better at expressing himself, Frank thinks. He could respond with his usual sarcasm and David wouldn’t be hurt or annoyed. Nothing would change. But he’s learned the hard way that when opportunities arise they shouldn’t be ignored, so he decides to take it. “Yeah, we love you too,” he huffs. And because David doesn’t laugh or make fun of him, he knows he said the right thing at the right time.

David clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, when you drop Rose off.”

When they hang up, Frank feels something tingly in his chest, not quite like what he feels for Karen or Rose which is both tender and fierce at the same time, but something very similar to devotion.

***

Making sure that Karen will be none the wiser, Frank takes the next day off work, drives her to the office and mentions absolutely nothing about his plans, apart from the fact that he’ll be picking her up after she’s done. Truth be told, his plans aren’t all that special. It’s only that it’s the first time that they’ll actually be celebrating that’s causing him to be so anxious and he can’t stop his fingers from nervously tapping the wheel whenever he stops at a red light.

Karen looks sideways at him, trying her best to interpret his mood. “Is something troubling you?”

Frank laughs to hide the tension building up in his stomach. “Besides you being back to work so soon, you mean?”

“Not this again, Frank,” she rolls her eyes.

“I’m not trying to pick a fight with you,” his fingers tighten on the wheel. “But I’m allowed to worry.”

“As long as you don’t worry yourself into an early grave,” she warns but Frank can hear the beginning of laughter in her voice.

He pulls over by the office building and as Karen checks if she has everything she needs, he leans closer to her. “Happy anniversary,” he says.

She looks at him, eyes bright as usual, and smiles. “Happy anniversary,” says Karen and kisses him. She’s pleased with just this. She accepts the simple things with grace and gratitude, it makes her happy but Frank wishes he could give her more than that, so much more.

“Give me a call when you’re ready,” he tells her like nothing else is on his mind and she nods to him as she exits the car.

For the next few hours, he goes into a frenzy of preparations, knowing he won’t have time to do much after he’s picked Rose up from school. He could ask for her help but that might end up delaying him even more. And it will be better to stall driving the kid to David’s house, so he can wait for Karen to finish work, instead of driving back and forth like an idiot.

“Why do I have to stay with Leo again?” his daughter asks him later.

“I thought you liked staying with Leo,” Frank remarks while fussing over a bowl of mushrooms.

“That is not the point,” she says, reminding him so much of her mother that he could cry.

He explains to her why this day is special and she’s finding it difficult to understand; they haven’t done this before, so why is it so special now? That’s precisely why, Frank tells her, they should have done this before and he hopes she won’t mind if they do it again next year and every year after, come to think of it. In a tone that doesn’t fit her age, she assures him she won’t mind and then decides to help with the flower setting.

“They should be in the middle of the table,” she says, carefully moving the vase a few inches.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Frank grins. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he tells her and Rose is thrilled that she can be of help.   

After everything has been taken care off and Rose has been delivered to the Liebermans, Frank sits in the car, waiting for Karen’s call. It looks like rain and he knows what that can do to traffic. He checks himself out in the mirror and scoffs. Maybe wearing a shirt was too much, maybe she’ll know something’s up the moment she sees him. Frank fixes his collar for the hundredth time, mumbling to himself when his phone makes him jump.

“I’m more than ready to go now,” Karen’s tired voice tells him.

“Be down in five minutes,” he says and noticing the surprise in her silence, he adds “I’m in the area.”

“I’ll be down in three,” she replies eagerly.

Sure enough, exactly three minutes later, she’s sat down in the passenger seat, stretching her longs legs and letting out a moan of discomfort. Frank tries to appear relaxed though he’s extremely nervous. Karen doesn’t usually like surprises but she’s been known to make exceptions when it comes to good ones. Her eyebrows snap up when she takes a look at him. “You’re wearing your black shirt,” she comments.

“Am I? I thought it was the blue one,” he teases her and gives her a quick peck on the lips.

“Are we going somewhere?” she questions.

“Home,” Frank grunts his response, angry at himself for being so easy to read. Then again, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, when it’s Karen doing the reading. At this rate, he’ll be amazed if he can make it back without giving everything away. The easiest way to throw her off is to get her talking about work, which she’s more than happy to do. Frank smirks at this stroke of genius and enjoys her passionate description of a work day some might find boring.

“See, home,” he says again later, as he pulls the handbrake.

Karen gives him a silent, questioning look.

Frank fishes a small box out of his pocket and fiddles with it for a few seconds. Realizing how sheepish he must seem, he straightens his shoulders and hands it to her. “I got you something.”

Her eyes dart from the box in her hand to him a couple of times before she finally finds her voice. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t think… I didn’t get you anything,” she says, her voice trembling.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves his hand as Karen begins struggling with the buckle of her seatbelt, grunting with frustration. “Let me give you a hand with that,” he offers.

The buckle pops readily under his thumb and Karen throws it an offended glare but she’s on him the moment she’s released from its prison. She covers his face with kisses, stopping for a sharp breath on the corner of his lips and Frank, tasting salt along with her lipstick, holds her face with his large hands and looks into her eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself, twisting like that,” he says, too close to her lips to be able to hold back for much longer. “Why are you crying?” he asks her and brushes away the tears with his thumbs.

“Because you did this for me, you went out of your way to buy me a present and I have nothing to give you in return,” Karen says, the box still tightly clutched in her hand, unopened.

Frank wants to say _I want to give you the world, I want to lay the stars at your feet, lay my life at your feet and you’re crying over this? This is nothing, it’s less than nothing_. But he actually says “You’ve given me everything”. In his unadorned style of communication, it means pretty much the same.

Karen settles in her seat again and opens her present. It’s a silver band, very simple, very delicate, almost identical to their wedding rings. “I thought you’re supposed to give me tin,” she grins as she slides the silver ring on her finger, on top of the gold one. Frank takes her hand and brings it to his lips, holding it tightly for a few seconds before letting go.

“I wasn’t gonna give you tin,” he laughs as he unfastens his belt.

Karen hums. “I wouldn’t say no to a can of Coke.”

“All I have is wine, hope you can make do with that.”

She stares at him, finally deciphering the clues. Shirt, present, wine. “You went all out,” she states.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies simply. But it isn’t completely true. He made good use of the time and resources he had, as Frank always does, but it’s still the bare minimum. He walks over to her side, opens the door for her and they walk inside hand in hand.

Frank apologizes for the lack of candles but he couldn’t leave open flames unattended and Karen laughs. Their wedding china, a present from Mitchell, is set on the table, making what is possibly its first appearance since it was given to them. What she finds most appealing is the scent of roses that fills the air. She inhales deeply and as Frank informs her what they’ll be having for dinner, Karen feels so full on appreciation that the food is the last thing on her mind. But when he puts a glass of red wine in her hand and goes back to the kitchen, returning with a platter of beef and mushroom Stroganoff, her stomach makes an eager sound.

“Rose is spending the night at David’s again, I assume,” she says, taking a seat at the table.

Frank nods as he fills her plate.

“Did she go without protesting?”

“Karen Page’s daughter?” he snickers. “She didn’t protest too much.” He finishes serving the food, leans over to kiss her and sits opposite her. “But she’s better at it than you are, her arguments are more convincing.”

Karen tries not to choke on her wine when she hears this. “You mean she has you wrapped around her tiny little finger,” she laughs.

“That too,” Frank admits with a half-smile and Karen feels her heart grow ten sizes. She tries to force down a sob but as he is always perceptive of the most minute details, his brow furrows with concern.

“I’m okay,” she tells him when she catches the look on his face. “I’m just overwhelmed.”

The corners of his mouth droop slightly. “Because I never make a big deal out of our anniversary?”

“No,no,” Karen reassures. “I think it’s because I never thought I’d be this happy.” Frank sighs in relief and she raises her glass, softly clinking it to his. “Happy anniversary, Frank.”

He remains silent and takes a sip, gazing at her intently. When he puts his glass down, he draws a sharp breath and says “Thank you”.

“For what?” Karen smiles.

“Everything.”

Karen looks at her husband, the serious look on his face and the softness in his eyes, a softness that he has fought against for a long time. She’s glad it comes so easily now, like breathing. If she could preserve the privilege of this tiny moment in time and frame it, would he be able to see what she sees, she wonders.

“You too,” she says simply and starts eating, pretending her heart isn’t trying to burst out of her chest.    

“Karen.”

His voice sounds low and thick, and Karen looks at him wide-eyed as she tries to swallow a mouthful of mushrooms.  

“There are things I don’t say because I think you know anyway,” Frank says, tracing an invisible line on the tablecloth with his index finger, a definite sign of nervousness. She reaches for his hand and feels his fingertips brush her palm in an almost pious way. “But you knowing shouldn’t stop me from saying them, right?”

“I don’t need words you don’t feel comfortable speaking,” she smiles gently.

Frank gets up and strides over to her side, towering over her for a few moments as though he needs to examine her face and kneels down in front of her, laying his head on her lap and sighing. Karen runs her fingers through his hair and knows for sure there’s no need for words. But there’s something he needs to say and she needs to make it easier for him. “Thank you for the ring,” she tells him. “I love it.”

He rubs his head on her thigh before looking up at her with an amused smile. “To strengthen the bond, you know.”

“If our bond was any stronger, we’d be joined at the hip,” she says and they laugh together.

“I’ll never find the right words to say,” he begins again when the laughter dwindles, “how grateful I am. For you and for everything you’ve ever said and done, even the harsh words, you know.”

Karen nods. “I feel the same.”

He brings her hand to his lips, kisses her palm and leans into it. His skin feels hot against hers, like something is boiling underneath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Frank tells her, voice full of gravel but also brittle and delicate.

“You’ll never have to find out,” Karen says and kisses him. Then she kisses him again and again, until time ceases to exist and ten years feel like a split second and a century at the same time and the only unwavering, certain thing in the middle of this illusion, is Frank’s heartbeat, matching hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be a nice, fluffy epilogue for those that don't want to stick around for the bad stuff.   
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos and everything!


	14. Chapter 14

Epilogue A

 

There are many ways to measure the passage of time and though the wrinkles on his face would be a pretty accurate standard, they aren’t what Frank uses. It’s Rose’s drawings; the abstract squiggles of her infantine hands evolved into carefully etched lines, colors chosen after consideration, the use of shading beginning to appear more often. He knows his daughter is an artist and wonders how long it’s going to be before she realizes that herself.

There is also the lack of things, things he misses terribly but would be foolish to mention. Long gone are the words ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ from their daughter’s vocabulary. It’s not cool to address them this way anymore, as she approaches the thirteenth year of her life. At least she looks at them with the same sparkle in her eyes. They may be just mom and dad now but according to that look, they can do no wrong and he takes comfort in that. Karen has confessed that she feels the same way but they should take it in stride and prepare for her teenage years, when she’s just going to hate them for no reason sometimes. Frank knows he can take it but wishes it didn’t have to be so.

“Remember how tiny her hands used to be?” she asks one afternoon, as they’re sitting outside and looking at the swing set that isn’t being used too often these days.

“They’re still tiny,” he says because compared to his, they are, but he knows what she means and he remembers when Rose used to try and crush his little finger in her baby fist, managing without fail to crush his heart every single time. “Why do they grow up so fast?” he grunts.

“I’m pretty sure they’re only doing it to vex us,” Karen laughs and he notices the lines around her eyes shimmer. He covers the side of her face with his hand and reaches his thumb to the corner of her eye, cautiously touching the tear that is caught there. Karen drops her gaze to the ground, tries to hide the sentimental expression on her face but it’s too late. Frank pulls her to him and sighs in her neck.

“Are you disappointed that we didn’t have another one?” he asks her, slightly afraid of the answer he might get.

“God, no!” she laughs again and he feels a very strange sort of relief. “I love her to death but she’s a handful and sometimes she pisses me off so much I could scream. She’s more than enough,” she nods to him. “Besides…” she trails off, biting her bottom lip.

Frank looks at her. Somehow, he knows what she wants to say. “It’s okay,” he coaxes.

“I have the feeling that one child was… one more. Two might seem like a replacement, to you,” she tells him.

_One more_ doesn’t feel right. “Rose isn’t one more. Rose is Rose,” he corrects her, even though the words don’t have enough weight, they can’t convey what he really feels.

“But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he replies and puts an arm around her waist. He always knows what she means; it’s a curse and a blessing. “I just don’t want you to think that you’ve been- you and Rose, you’re not something I used to fill a hole, you know.”

“I never thought that, Frank,” Karen says in a content whisper.

“Good.” He kisses her temple and gently pats her thigh, which has become code for ‘let’s go back inside’.

They stand up together and Karen takes a moment to stretch. The sun hits her face and Frank is mesmerized by her image; her skin, shining like marble, the pink of her lips accentuated by the light, her eyes slightly narrowed by a satisfied smile. “Damn it, Page,” he says before he can stop himself.

She turns to him, surprised. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous,” he says and kisses her and she resumes smiling against his lips.

“And all yours,” she tells him when he breaks the kiss and touches his forehead to hers. Frank feels his heart explode in his chest and is taken aback by the way happiness has crept into his life and stood firm, refusing to ever leave.

Rose sticks her head through the door. “Is either one of you available at the moment?”

Karen quirks an eyebrow. “What for?”

“I need a model,” she says, brandishing a coloring pencil.

Frank chuckles. “You’d better take this one,” he says to Karen and she follows their daughter willingly.

“I’m going to get you one day, dad,” Rose yells as she disappears from view.

And even though Frank is overwhelmed by the perfection of their life, so much so that he has to force down something that very closely resembles a sob, he laughs out loud and replies “You’ll never take me alive”. His daughter’s response comes in the form of laughter as well and Frank notices they sound a bit similar, although hers is much more pleasant.

Later that night, after Rose has fallen asleep, Frank allows himself a peek through the door. She still sleeps like a starfish, slim limbs stretched out, blonde hair strewn across her face like magical seaweed. She doesn’t let them put her to bed or tuck her in anymore and he has to collect these precious moments quietly. If she caught him standing there, she’d throw her pillow at him; she’s already done it once. Karen passes by him on her way to their room and stops for a quick peck on the cheek.

“All good?” she says in hushed tones.

“All good,” he whispers back and gently closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, don't hate me but I think we're done with the fluff.


	15. Chapter 15

Maybe it’s because it’s his day off, but Frank feels especially sprightly today. There’s no specific reason to be excited about but he’s gone out and bought a large bouquet of roses for Karen. She’ll probably ask him why, not because she’s not used to such gestures but because it’s been a while since he got her flowers; he’s a little bit ashamed of that. The sun is spilling its warm light over him as he takes his time washing the car and he has to squint a bit, when a flurry of blonde hair and blue fabric scrambles through the gate and into the house.

“Karen?” he calls after her, immediately dropping everything, chores be damned.

He follows her inside, noting with panic that the vase has been thrown in the bin, its lid stuck open with the perfect white roses poking out. He thinks about wiping his wet hands with a towel but that’s not a priority; they’re shaking too much anyway. “Karen,” he calls again, louder and practically runs to their room. “What did I do?” He must have screwed up pretty bad if she’s acting this way but as much as he racks his brain, he can’t think of anything.

“Hm?” She sounds completely cold as she stands there, with her back turned to him, fingers busy with buttons that don’t seem to respond to her touch.

“What did I do?” Frank’s voice breaks and she whirls around to look at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

“You didn’t do anything. What are you talking about?”

“I got you flowers. You- why did you throw them in the trash like that?” he says, his face contorted in desperate confusion.

“What flowers?” Karen asks again, her expression beginning to match his more and more.

“The ones in the trash, Karen.” He takes her by the hand, making her follow him to the kitchen and he gestures a slightly less shaky hand towards the depressed roses, still fighting valiantly against the lid’s pressure.

Karen’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry,” she exclaims, rushing to save the flowers from the bin, placing the vase on the counter and trying to mend them back to their previous state. “I must have been on autopilot, didn’t even notice what I was doing!”

Frank just stands there, somewhat soothed but still confused. “It’s okay,” he reassures her, noticing she’s quite agitated herself. “I just thought I upset you somehow.”

“No, no, you didn’t,” says Karen, throwing herself at him. “I guess I was really absorbed in my thoughts. The roses are lovely. I love them, thank you,” she tells him with a shy smile but her fingers are trembling as they rest at the base of his neck and Frank contemplates worrying.

“You work too much,” he says finally. “Stress will wear you out.”  

“I know. I know, you’re right. I’ll take time off soon, I promise,” she tells him and heads back to their room to change out of her work clothes. Frank observes her from afar as she struggles with the buttons.

“Take a bath, yeah? Try to relax,” he tells her and she absentmindedly agrees. His hands stop shaking completely but a ball of anxiety nestles in the pit of his stomach. When she emerges from the room dressed in comfortable lounge wear, she’s all smiles and joyfulness and there’s a spring in her step that makes him forget all else.

“We could take a bath together,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

“We could but Rose is gonna be back soon,” he reminds her and Karen responds with an adorable pout before turning on her heel and sauntering to the bathroom. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she says in a sing-song voice which makes Frank want to respond with an approving growl, but he remembers he left the water running when he tagged after her.

Outside, staring at the puddle that seems to be drying quickly, he wonders what got Karen so worked up. The cases they’ve been working on lately shouldn’t be that stressful and unless she’s hiding something from him, nothing new has come up. He picks his phone from his back pocket and calls Foggy, hoping to be told that nothing weird is going on.

“Hey, Frank,” Foggy says casually but his voice is strained. “Is Karen feeling better?”

He realizes Nelson will want to go the long way around so Frank gets straight to the point. “Care to fill me in, buddy? What happened?”

Foggy lets out a sigh. “She quit,” he says with a tinge of irritation in his tone which quickly changes to melancholy. “I’m hoping she will show up tomorrow, as usual, but I don’t know what to expect at this point.”

“What do you mean she quit? Why?” Frank tries to imagine what could have made Karen want to leave a job she loves but can’t think of a good enough reason.

“There was a mix up with a file she was supposed to bring in today. She forgot and that’s okay, no big deal. We told her that, several times,” Foggy sighs again and Frank honestly feels sorry for him. He sounds exhausted. “But she was furious. She kept saying she didn’t have it, then switched to accusing us of playing stupid pranks on her and finally, she said she couldn’t work like this and quit.”

“That doesn’t sound like Karen,” is all Frank can say.

“I know,” Foggy agrees. “Listen, I don’t mean to overstep my bounds but is everything okay at home?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Frank tells him, a fact he knows to be true but feels like there’s something he’s missing.  

“Well, something’s up with her.” Murdock can be heard in the background, muttering something or other to which Frank doesn’t pay attention.

“Maybe she’s just tired,” he tries to rationalize.

“Maybe,” Foggy says. “Tell her to give me a call when she cools down, okay?”

Frank can hear the plea in his friend’s voice. He would have expected him to be angry, to be more demanding, as Frank knows he can be, but it seems like Foggy genuinely thinks Karen might not go back. Which means she was more than furious when she left the office. Why wouldn’t she tell him any of this?  “Sure, Foggy,” he says and hangs up, more confused than before.

With some reservations, he decides to ask her about the matter directly. He stands outside the bathroom door for a brief moment, listening to her humming a tune he doesn’t recognize and regrets interrupting it when he gently knocks on the door. “Come in,” says Karen and the door whines when Frank pushes it open to find her in the bathtub, covered in bubbles that smells like jasmine, head tilted back, eyes closed; an image of perfect serenity. A smile spreads on her face and she pops one eye open to catch a glimpse of him leaning on the doorframe. “Did you change your mind then?” she teases him.

She looks so beautiful that Frank reconsiders bringing up the fight with her friends. But reason overrides emotion this once. Crossing his arms on his chest, he draws in a deep breath. “So you quit your job today.”

Her jaw clenches. “I did,” she tells him with a voice so flat it scares him.

Frank nods. “Okay,” he says simply, trying to decipher the right way to handle this.

Karen casts him a glazed look. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“You’ve made your decision, I’m gonna back you up,” he nods again, moving closer to rub her shoulders.

Her face scrunches. “No ‘these are your friends’, ‘you love your job’, ‘you can’t just quit’?”

“Maybe these things don’t matter anymore, maybe you’ve had enough,” Frank shrugs.

“No, I haven’t!” Karen complains and her features relax as soon as she’s said it. “Sly bastard,” she mutters under her breath, trying to hide a small smile curling the corners of her mouth.

“If you’re sure,” he responds with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she says, flicking foam backwards and he doesn’t make a move to avoid it, laughing when it lands on his stomach and instantly turns into a wet stain on his shirt.

“Foggy sounded pretty upset,” he tells her.

 “They both need to grow up. They’ve been hiding my stuff for weeks and I haven’t said anything before today but enough is enough,” she huffs and adds, in a softer tone “I’ll call him later.”

Frank notices her hands when she grabs the sides of the bathtub, knuckles turning white as she tries to lift herself up. She doesn’t ask for help so he thinks perhaps it’s just anger that’s bringing forth this lack of stability. Karen releases her grasp and lowers herself back in the water, letting out a sigh. “I will call him,” she affirms. “You go pick Rose up, don’t think about it anymore.” Realizing he’s been dismissed, Frank stands up with a nod and though the need to be comforted is somewhat fulfilled when he hears her humming again as soon as he closes the door behind him, there’s something nagging at him. He can’t quite put his finger on it but it’s there, like the buzzing of a fluorescent lamp, constant and unrelenting.  

***

It’s roughly two weeks later that Foggy decides to visit, without prior warning, when he’s supposed to be meeting an important client; Frank is aware of this because Karen had mentioned it two, no, three times, the night before. It’s still early and he needs to get ready for work but that’s not why he feels irritated when he opens the door to let Foggy in. It’s the slump of his shoulders and the arching of his brows. “We need to talk,” he says, his posture decisive in spite of his doleful stare.

Frank backs away. “What are you doing, showing up like this? I have to get to work,” he says, not meaning to sound as scared as he does.

“There is something seriously wrong with Karen,” Foggy continues and Frank has to stand there and listen as his friend describes Karen’s erratic behavior. Like he doesn’t already know. Like he hasn’t watched her dropping things, unsteady on her feet, snapping at him for no reason at all, like he hasn’t noticed her eyes glazing over in the middle of a conversation.  Foggy keeps talking but all Frank can hear is the world cracking.

“Are you listening to me?” Foggy shouts eventually, his eyes too wet for Frank’s liking. “This is serious!”

And Frank, unable to raise his eyes to look at him, simply nods like a child who has just been scolded. He tries to say something, anything, to show he understands perfectly but the only thing that comes out of his throat is a low whimper. At least it’s enough to make Foggy lower his voice.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, putting his hand on Frank’s shoulder and maybe it’s because he really wants to believe him that Frank allows the words to pour inside him like a pledge.     

He’s a mess at work, swinging the sledgehammer as though it’s made of cotton, unresponsive to chatter and noise, not even realizing the palms of his hands are covered in blisters. When his shift ends, he stalls, almost doesn’t want to return home; now that the illusion has burst, he’s going to have to look at Karen like she’s something damaged that needs fixing and he’s not sure he can deal with that. He inhales deeply before opening the door, somehow imagining he’s coming back to a war zone.

Karen is standing in the middle of the living room with a book in her hands. He notices it seems to be slipping from her fingers, barely remaining in place, as she turns to him and offers a welcoming smile. Her eyes are clear and bright and Frank wants to believe nothing is wrong but the truth is he can envision the mist covering them again and it hurts. This is worse, he thinks, coming home to this dazzling being, frightened out of his wits. He’d rather have the war zone instead.

“Hey,” Karen says softly and her voice triggers something inside him that he had forgotten. His body crashes into hers, his arms wrap around her waist, too tightly, holding on for dear life as he sobs into her neck. He’s aware of Karen’s hands patting him, inspecting for wounds. Once she’s satisfied he’s unharmed, she finally lets her hands fall on his back, rubbing circles as she whispers into his ear “I’m here, I got you”. It only makes him cry harder and he’s glad Rose isn’t awake to see her dad dissolve into a puddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can assure you I hate myself more than you hate me.


	16. Chapter 16

Rose observes her parents perform a strange little routine for three days. Her father follows her mother around, lurking without saying anything -she suspects his silence is more telling than any actual words he would produce- and although she knows she’s being followed, her mother pretends everything is normal. Adults are so stupid, her teenage brain tells her and Rose is inclined to believe it. They probably don’t act the same way when she’s not present, or at least she hopes they don’t because this is kinda ridiculous to watch.

“This isn’t fair, you took me by surprise,” her mother says after managing to clumsily drop the dish cloth her father has just thrown at her and he says nothing, only raising his eyebrows as he casts her a pointed look.

Later, when Rose hands her mother her latest sketch, asking for an honest critique, she takes special notice of her fingers as they awkwardly open and close over thin air, letting the paper slip lazily to the floor. And sure enough, her father is already looming over her mother’s crouched figure. “Now you’re just making me nervous,” she tells him as she picks the drawing up and focuses all her attention to it.

That night, with her head uneasily resting on her pillow, Rose listens to their muffled whispers as they argue over something. Trying carefully not to be heard, her father’s voice comes out as barely more than a low rumble and even though she can’t discern a single word, it makes her stomach clench. Some kids at school often talk about their parents’ divorces, how they started arguing and things only got worse after that. It’s an unsettling thought, the possibility of her own parents getting divorced but she can’t really consider it valid; her father still looks at her mother like she’s a work of art and she returns those glances in kind. Something else must be going on.

Rose doesn’t understand what these interactions are supposed to achieve but whatever it is, she hopes it happens soon. The waiting is the worst part.

***

“You’re overreacting, as usual,” Karen tells him, succeeding at catching the towel he’s been throwing to her on the third try. “I feel fine!”

“And you can still feel fine after getting examined by a doctor,” Frank replies, pacing up and down nervously. He’s been trying to convince her for three whole days and his patience is wearing thin but he clasps his hands together in supplication. “What will it take, Karen, to make you see reason? I’m begging you, I’ll do anything.”

Karen contemplates his state, his entire body tense like he’s fighting against being pulled apart by invisible hooks but his eyes solemn, and thinks it might be best to just give in, to stop opposing him as though he’s asking her to do something crazy. But she can’t stop herself from saying ‘no’, for the hundredth time.

“Why?” Frank is on the verge of tears.

“I don’t understand what the issue is here,” Karen says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I keep telling you, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

She turns away because looking at him is becoming unbearable, especially the way his shoulders are shaking like he’s about to cry. Her eyes dart around the room, trying to find something else to focus on, when she catches a glimpse of the framed pictures hanging on the wall by the door of Rose’s room. Karen sighs and walks over to them, softening at the sight of her holding her tiny baby daughter and a younger Frank leaning over them, the effort of suppressing a smile too obvious on his face. She turns to look at him with a grin and finds him staring back at her with the same expression as before.

Karen resumes her trip down memory lane, examining a photo of Rose, smiling a toothless smile. Normally, Frank would be standing there with her, locking her in his embrace where everything feels safe, but maybe it’s for the best that there’s a distance between them at the moment. She’d rather not have him feel how stiff her body gets when she looks at the photo above that of their daughter. And there’s a question that needs to be asked, no matter how much she doesn’t want to ask it. Slowly turning her back to the cluster of photos, she lifts a trembling finger to point at the confusing one.

“Frank, when was this taken?” she asks, her voice only just audible.

Frank looks at their wedding portrait; Karen smiling, her simple white dress, the flowers in her hair, every single detail alive in his memory like it just happened yesterday. But Karen doesn’t seem to remember. She looks like she’s drifting away, from him, from their life, so disoriented that his heart breaks into a million little pieces. “Baby, please,” he begs again, ready to fall to his knees.  

“Okay,” Karen nods as her eyes fill with tears. She knows they’re married, she has knowledge of the fact and the gold ring on her finger is no surprise but despite how hard she tries, she can’t find the memory of their wedding anywhere in her recollections. She hadn’t thought to look for it until now and she wonders what else she might be forgetting. What did she do at work yesterday? What was her daughter’s first word? How many trivial or important things have slipped her mind, unnoticed, and are they lost forever? “Okay,” she says once more and reaches out to her husband, desperately needing to be held and told everything’s going to be alright. Frank’s arms envelop her immediately but he doesn’t say anything, too shocked by how small her trembling body feels against his, even though he’s feeling extremely small himself.

***

After all the physical and neurological exams, the MRI and CAT scans, which she went through like the fighter she always has been, Karen sits very still next to Frank in the doctor’s office. The only thing that reveals her anxiety is her fingers, nervously tapping at her knee. Frank offers her his hand and she takes it, squeezes it and sighs softly. He feels like jumping out of his skin but he needs to be all there for her, he can freak out on his own later. The doctor comes in, looking over her file and Frank knows, damn it all to hell, he knows this is just a performance. He must have looked at that file twenty times by now, he doesn’t need to pretend that he’s still assessing the situation.   

The word he uses for what’s wrong with Karen sounds offensive to Frank’s ears, it sounds like a curse. Then the doctor tells them gliomas occur in men more often than in women and Frank feels like laughing but he doesn’t; why is that a thing you tell someone with a brain tumor? To make them feel special? He knows it isn’t the doctor’s fault but he still wants to tear him apart with his bare hands, especially after his refusal to provide a prognosis. They’ll need to operate before he can give them something concrete, they need to perform a biopsy first. For the time being, the most important thing is to get her into surgery. The growth is aggressive, he says. It must be removed quickly. Frank knows all about aggression. Especially how unyielding it can be.   

“I’m not looking forward to telling Rose about this,” Karen tells him in the car later, seemingly calm.

He knows what she’s trying to do, acting brave for his sake and wishes he could tell her she doesn’t need to do it but he’s so close to falling apart, he just accepts it. They sit in silence for a while; Karen needing a moment to absorb the information and Frank trying to remember how to breathe. He leans forward and rests his head on the steering wheel, giving her the space that he thinks she needs but all he wants to do is hold on to her, with both hands, and never let anything come between them.

It’s so ironic, he thinks, how he’s challenged death, taunted it, begging to be taken and failed every single time, and how Karen, always running towards life, has been caught unaware; he can’t shield her from this, he can’t put himself between her and this new, vicious enemy that’s extending its tentacles all over her. There’s only so much a mere mortal can do. Hysterical laughter starts spilling out of him before he can stop it, his body heaving with disgust and anguish, and the tears follow shortly after. As though having a mind of its own, his hand desperately grasps at Karen and pulls her to him. She clumsily throws her arms around his neck as she starts crying too.

“What are we going to do, Frank?” she asks when her voice can rise up through the tears but her tone is steady and determined. She’s not really asking, only trying to remind him.

“We’re going to fight,” he tells her, rubbing her back. You don’t surrender just because the battle is lost, he thinks. “With everything we’ve got.”

And perhaps it doesn’t matter if they can win or not, or maybe the certainty of defeat is just another type of fuel, but when Karen kisses him, there’s a new hunger in her that he hasn’t tasted before and he has to admit it’s alluring. It’s almost enough to make him forget where they are and what they’ve just been told and how the world has stopped making sense.

Almost.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize but I can't lie, I'm enjoying this too much.
> 
> Massive thanks for your comments!


	17. Chapter 17

There’s not much Frank can do while Karen explains the situation to their daughter, other than stand around and try to keep it together. Rose has climbed on the couch next to her mother, holding her hands and listening very carefully. Karen’s voice is tranquil and soothing, as difficult as that may seem to manage. When Rose asks if everything is going to be okay, Frank steps forward and opens his mouth, ready to lie, to distort the truth as much as he can but Karen, sensing his intentions, stops him with a glare.

“I can’t promise you that, baby,” she tells her daughter and gently strokes her cheek. “All I can say is that I’ll try my best.”

Frank marvels at her ability to smile through all this but he’s grateful that she can, for her own sake and for Rose’s sake, who takes it all in without breaking down like he did and simply nods. “I think I’d prefer you guys getting a divorce,” she says with a serious expression on her face and Karen’s jaw drops. She doesn’t get it, of course she doesn’t. Frank has always been better at interpreting Rose’s discourse and he regrets the slight amusement he derives from this.

“Yeah, kid. Me too,” he says because, honestly, that would be a fine alternative.

“You are both insane,” Karen tells them and stands, marching up to Frank. “You’re stuck with me and there’s no way out,” she says and gives him a quick kiss. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to work.”

“Are you serious?” he asks, throwing his hands up.

“Nothing has changed,” Karen replies with tightness in her face, lifting her chin upwards as though challenging him to object to her decision.

Frank shakes his head but makes no move to stop her. Nothing has changed indeed; she’s already in combat mode. He follows her with his eyes as she gathers her things and only moves towards her when he notices she hasn’t grabbed her keys. He puts them in her hand and she thanks him, giving him another kiss at the door, like it’s any other day. When she’s gone, Frank goes over to the couch, slumping next to Rose, and exhales slowly.  

“Dad?” her shaky voice startles him. “Should I be panicking?”

“Panic never helps, sweetheart,” he tells her, rubbing her shoulder. “Besides, we don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet.”

Rose wants to believe him. He’s always made things better, always fixed the things he promised to fix, he has never lied. But as she watches him, she detects something that she hasn’t seen before. Though he seems unruffled externally, she could swear his blood is boiling under his skin that appears to be pulsing with rage and loathing. This can’t be real; her dad is the cool headed one, under any circumstance.

“Are you lying to me?” she asks again.

Frank isn’t shocked that she can see through him. After all, he’s the one who constantly brags about how perceptive she is. He pulls her into a tight hug. “No,” he says and as Rose relaxes in his arms, he finishes the sentence inside his head. _I’m lying to myself._

***

Presumably displeased at being discovered, the tumor decides to prove just how aggressive it is by launching a daily assault of nausea and dizziness. It takes a lot out of her but Karen endures; she’s made of tougher stuff than anyone thinks and now is the time to prove it. So she needs to run to the toilet more often than she did when she was pregnant. So what? She could do without Matt and Foggy’s cautious treatment of her though, she thinks as she rejoins them in the meeting room one morning, where Matt is standing by the door, waiting for her to come back.

“Wipe the pity off your face or I swear I’m going to slap it off,” she says charmingly and Foggy tries to swallow his laughter, with little success. This restores a semblance of normalcy at least. Thank goodness things are different at home.

Her friends treat her to lunch during their break and even though that’s not unusual, she can’t help but feel somewhat angry with them. She quickly goes over the list of symptoms in her mind and remembers that personality changes were included in it. She doesn’t like that she has to do this, wonder if Karen Page has always been an angry person or if this is a new thing which she has to live with regardless. “Do I usually get angry with you over lunch?” she decides to ask them.

Matt snorts in amusement. “You get angry with us over all sorts of things. Lunch hasn’t been added to the list yet but I wouldn’t find it surprising,” he admits.

“It’s the coriander, isn’t it?” Foggy joins in. “I swear we didn’t put it in there,” he says and Karen can’t help but burst into laughter. This is more like it, she thinks, more like what she remembers.

“I know it’s frustrating,” she says sometime later, “that I might have to ask a lot of questions like this. And I’m sorry but you’ll just have to put up with it.”

“We put up with plenty of things already, what’s one more?” Foggy jests.

Karen looks at her boys, wrinkles and all, just boys, doing their best to keep her in good spirits, even though they must be feeling terrible themselves. Her bottom lip begins trembling but restraining it has become easier with time. She smiles lovingly and they both simultaneously reach for her hand which brings forth a round of awkward chuckles; as luck would have it, she still has two hands which she offers to them with pleasure. They sit like that for a while, holding hands as though they were in a prayer circle. No doubt that’s how Matt regards it. “We-” he tries to says, stopping upon realizing he’s not sure what he meant to tell her exactly.

“I think what Matt is trying to say,” Foggy interjects, “is that we don’t know what we’d do without you.” Yeah, that sounds about right, Matt thinks.

Karen releases their hands and pats them once. “I’m not going anywhere,” she tells them, feeling the confidence building up inside her each time she says it. “But just in case…”

“Don’t,” Matt interrupts her. “Don’t say it.”

“You need to listen to me, okay?” she persists. “Whatever happens, you two will be fine, I’m sure of it.” Foggy’s soft whimper worms into her ears but doesn’t deter her. “But I worry about Frank. And Rose, obviously, but she’s tougher than she looks.”

“Is this a parallel universe where we sit and discuss how Rose might be tougher than the Punisher himself?” Foggy whispers. “This, all of this is so surreal.”

“I worry about Frank,” Karen says again, her eyes pleading for her point to be understood. The Punisher is long dead, leaving behind him nothing but soft tissue, exposed and vulnerable. They must be able to see that.

Matt thinks back to a moment, years ago, when Frank let his guard down in front of him and actually spoke the words that confirmed his suspicions. _I’m lost without Karen_. Even then, he had been certain that words weren’t enough to express what Frank truly felt, but Matt knew how to listen beyond words, to the hindered pulse, the violent contraction of the lungs; all the signs that Frank had been nothing but a lump of torment that night. And he knows now, that if worse comes to worst, he’ll be like that again. Foggy may suspect too, even though he has no proof, but he speaks for both of them when he says “You don’t need to worry. We’d never abandon him.”

“Thank you,” Karen sighs, relieved.

“But this is just a worst case scenario, right?” Matt urges.

“Of course.” She’s already done her research, she knows what’s coming and it’s not looking great. “Of course,” she says again and smiles.

***

Just as they’re getting ready to wheel her out of the hospital room, Frank keeps thinking just how beautiful Karen still looks, even with half of her scalp shaved. Rose had come close to groaning at the sight of her mother but he’d stopped her with a gentle squeeze on her arm. Now the two of them are holding hands, Karen’s thumb ceaselessly rubbing circles above Rose’s knuckles and whispering comforting words. Based on their reactions, one might think the teenager is the one about to receive surgery. “I’ll see you in a bit,” Karen tells them and Frank watches as their hands become disentangled forcefully, a sharp pang of pain hitting his chest. He wants to shout after them, _don’t take her, please_. But he keeps his lips tightly pressed together because his daughter starts trembling next to him and he has to make sure she’s okay.

“She’ll be fine, won’t she?” Rose asks when her father pulls her close to him, his presence steady and consistent as ever.

He nods. “That’s why we’re doing this.”

“Okay,” she says and repeats it a few more times to steady her nerves.” Okay, okay, okay.”

“Hey, you mind if…” he pauses. “If I hold your hand?”

Rose is too old to be held by the hand and they both know this, she’s not a kid anymore. Normally, she would scoff at him and ask him to at least try and be cool but she’d be lying if she said her father isn’t offering her exactly what she needs at the moment. She slips her hand in his and waits for him to squeeze it; she doesn’t want to appear too eager. When he does, she finds the pressure grounding and she’s thankful but none the wiser about Frank’s own need to have his hand held, feeling as helpless as a child himself.

They only have to wait for two hours; two hours that feel like an eternity. A still sleeping Karen is brought back in the room, a breathing tube fastened on her nose, her eyelids already fluttering like she’s about to wake up from a pleasant dream. Frank could almost believe in happy endings, if her eyes weren’t so swollen and if the look on the doctor’s face wasn’t so dour, as he motions to be followed outside. Rose is already at her mother’s side. “If she wakes up before I’m back, remember,” he begins.

“Don’t overwhelm her, I know,” she dismisses him and he closes the door behind him with a sigh, turning to face the doctor.

“How are we doing this? Good news, bad news?” Frank makes an effort to be pleasant through this but the doctor’s expression remains serious. He runs his hand over his face and sighs for what has to be the fiftieth time that day. “Just bad news then,” he says.   

“Not exactly, Mr. Castiglione,” the doctor tells him. “Though the entirety of the growth couldn’t be removed, we got rid of the larger part. That should relieve some of the pressure on her brain and along with medication, the symptoms will be reduced significantly.”

“That’s good,” Frank exclaims with renewed optimism.

“We’ll be monitoring her closely for now. I’ll have more to tell you when the biopsy results come in, we’ll go over your options then.”

Frank shakes his hand with earnest admiration. “Thank you,” he says and the doctor nods once before letting go of his hand and taking off.

He returns to the room. Karen is in pretty much the same condition, except her fingers are twitching lightly every now and then. Rose’s head snaps to his direction, eyes wide in anticipation. “Did everything go well?” she asks.

“Apparently,” Frank replies and allows himself a short laugh, which draws out a cheerful yelp from his daughter.

A faint groan comes out of Karen’s half open mouth. “I have a headache and you two are being too loud,” she says in a hoarse voice, keeping her eyes closed because the light manages to hurt, even through shut eyelids. She can hear her husband and daughter laughing again, but in much more hushed tones. She tries to lift up her hand to remove something blocking her nose but her movements are sluggish. “Frank, get this thing off me,” she complains.

He rushes to her before she has the chance to say anything else. “Not yet,” he tells her, rubbing her arm.

“Who’s Frank?” Rose asks.

Karen’s consciousness, though not functioning properly at the moment, registers the mistake and decides that trying to fix it will only make it worse.

“It’s the anesthetic,” Frank lies, worried that he wouldn’t be able handle two problems at once. “She’s not going to make a lot of sense for a little while.”  

“Nonsense, nonsense” Karen manages to mumble as everything blurs out of existence again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be wrapping this up nicely in a couple of chapters, unless some other vile thing comes to me.  
> Have I mentioned how much I appreciate your comments? I really really do!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A round of sadness for everyone.  
> I questioned myself, I tried to stop but wrote it anyway. At least we're in this together?

Karen is definitely not happy to still be in the hospital five days later. She hates the bed and she hates the lights and she hates everything. And she especially hates being told that she might have to stay for another week or so. It’s so infuriating that she begins imagining how she could make a grand escape. She can’t count on Frank for help, as he’s already informed her that he will personally hold her down while they strap her to the bed, if it comes to that. At least glaring at him helps pass the time.

The doctor visits them, biopsy results in hand, and to his credit, his face doesn’t give off an atmosphere of gloom, as Frank might have expected. It doesn’t really matter, what he has to say is unpleasant all the same but they can do without the drama. The fact that the greater part of the tumor has been removed isn’t reason enough to rejoice and as soon as the words radiation therapy and chemotherapy are mentioned, Karen’s foot starts twitching under the sheets and Frank rubs her leg to help her relax. He knows exactly how this will go down. And he knows they’re going to argue and he’s going to have to let her win. They let the man go on, explaining their options, which are limited of course, but they have to listen to them anyway. When he’s finished, Karen asks to be allowed to leave.

“I would prefer keeping you here a little while longer,” the doctor says in a very kind tone.

“Well, I’d prefer to be home, in my own bed,” she snaps at him and feels the incision on her head throb. “So you prescribe all the necessary medications and let me go. I can’t spend another minute in here!”

With his mouth agape, the doctor looks to Frank, hoping for a reasonable reaction but seeing only resignation in the man’s eyes. “If you don’t let her go, she’ll be tying bed sheets together and climbing out the window within the hour,” Frank tells him, shaking his head.

The doctor finally admits defeat and agrees to her request but not before telling her to consider what they’ve discussed and get back to him as soon as possible. She nods enthusiastically, if only to get rid of him, though it makes her head hurt like hell.

They don’t say a word on the drive home, mainly because Karen dozes off before they’ve made it four blocks away from the hospital. She’s slept a lot during her stay there but drug induced sleep isn’t exactly the best kind and she’s going to feel tired for at least a month. Frank has a lot of things to say though and they keep piling up. He hopes she’s going to at least give him a chance to speak out because it’s beginning to feel like he’s choking.

When they arrive home, he wakes her up gently and helps her inside; it takes about ten minutes, as she has to take tiny steps, getting dizzy if she moves too fast. Once they’re inside, Karen takes a deep breath and the tension leaves her shoulders. She makes a joke about needing scarves to hide her head but Frank can’t laugh. She knew he wouldn’t anyway. “Go ahead then, say your piece,” she tells him as he quietly helps her sit down in the most comfortable chair they own.

Frank sighs. “You won’t even consider chemo?”

The resolve in her voice when she says ‘no’ is enough to make him stumble back. He feels like he’s been punched but her gaze doesn’t fall kindly on him like it might have, under different circumstances.

“And I’ll explain, before you even ask me why,” she goes on. “See, this thing,” she points to the curved line on her swollen head, “may have stolen some memories from me, but the memory of my mother still remains. It’s a painful memory, the way she shriveled and withered away and no matter how hard she tried, the outcome was the same.”

Frank sees her eyes filling with tears, feels the same thing happening to him but says nothing, makes no move towards her.

“I don’t want this for our daughter, Frank. I don’t want this for myself! And I know, I know how much it hurts you but if I’m going out, you have to let me do it on my own terms,” Karen says through gritted teeth, tears spilling over her cheeks.

He’s kneeling before her without realizing he’s doing it, his hands trembling over hers as though waiting for permission and she gracefully pulls them around her waist, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. “What did the doctor tell you when you spoke privately?”

Frank’s voice comes out rough, even though he doesn’t mean for it to sound like that. “He told me false hope does wonders sometimes.”

“But you said,” Karen coaxes, knowing the answer already.

“I don’t lie to my wife,” he says, a sob escaping his throat.

“So how long do I have without the chemo?”

She holds his gaze. Frank wishes she didn’t, it makes him want to disappear, collapse within himself and vanish from existence. “Three months, if we’re lucky.”

Karen doesn’t manage to stifle her gasp in time and he has to close his eyes, he can no longer look at her. He feels her warm lips brush by his cheek, hears the shaky smile in her voice when she whispers in his ear. “We can do a lot in three months.”

“We can do a lot more in a year,” he says, squeezing her waist so much he’s afraid he might bruise her. “We could have a year.” He pulls back to search her eyes for mercy. “Please, give me that.”

She starts crying again, holds her head with both hands and knowing she must be in pain, Frank feels guilty, he hates himself but he needs as much time with her as he can get. It isn’t enough, it will never be enough.

“I’m not doing it, Frank,” Karen says eventually. “Don’t make me hurt you even more by saying it over and over.”

Defeated, he nods. He has to accept her decision; even if it ends up tearing him apart, he has to give her this. He stands up and takes several steps away from her, feeling like he might shatter any moment now.

“If you knew in advance this was going to happen, would you have done anything differently?” she asks him.

“No,” he replies honestly, without having to think about it. “But I’m not ready. I’m not ready to-” The pressure twisting inside his throat doesn’t let any more words come out.

“You’re standing too far apart from me,” Karen’s soothing voice reaches him through the haze. “Come here.”

This is something Frank is skilled at, following her orders. He can focus on that instead of the sorrow that’s all-engulfing and cruel and unwelcome. He stands over her, helps her stand up when she throws her arms up to him and holds her when she wraps them around him, wondering if he’ll have to let go at some point because, right now, he feels like holding on to her for as much time as they have left.

“I’m not ready either,” she tells him. “But let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Frank cries in her hair, aware of his uselessness as he should be the one comforting her and not the other way around.

Karen kisses his temple, tightening her embrace. “Don’t be sorry. Just be by my side.”

“Always,” he says and means exactly that, even if it’s not what they’re getting.

They agree that not letting Rose know everything might be the best course of action in this case. It wouldn’t be lying, not exactly and that’s something they’re both willing to compromise on. Knowing won’t soften the blow and her life will definitely not become easier with this shadow looming over her. Though neither one of them truly believes that ignorance is bliss, their daughter deserves some peace of mind, however brief. Three months, Frank keeps thinking, aren’t enough, but they will make the most of them.

 

They get five months and one day.

 

At first, Karen had tried going to work regularly but Frank was glad that she decided to stop after a couple of weeks. The strain on her health was unnecessary and she was obviously annoyed at having to ask people their names every time they met; whether that was a side effect of brain surgery or just another symptom of her illness was unclear, but it frustrated her nonetheless. Other than that, things went on normally, like she’d gotten an early retirement or a long time off but she was still a full time mom to a delighted teenager who never thought to question why her mother didn’t seem to be getting better.

They’ve been spending long hours together, during which Rose easily convinces her to model for her. Frank thinks it has less to do with practicing her sketching and more with the realization that her mother is mortal. Either way, it’s good for them. Karen seems really comfortable sitting still for long periods of time, even if sometimes the poses her daughter forces her into don’t seem possible for the human body. He catches a glimpse of all the sketches of Karen spread on Rose’s desk once, thinking about how it will feel to look at them when their time is up. He hates that thought and hates himself for thinking it but it’s easy to forget when Karen smiles to him like they have all the time in the world. But her headaches are getting worse and she has trouble finding the right words for what she has to say sometimes and there are days when she can’t move without being supported; that isn’t so easily forgotten.

One morning, after Rose has left for school, he brings Karen breakfast in bed and she gives him a smile full of gratitude. “I showed those odds,” she says with some effort. “Five whole months!”

“You sure did,” Frank smiles back at her and takes her hand, bringing it to his lips.

“I should get a prize or something,” she laughs and squeezes his fingers.

“I’ll get you a pony, how does that sound?”

“Magnificent,” she lets out a soft giggle and looks at him shyly through half closed eyes. “Have I ever told you you’re the prettiest boy in the world?”

Frank roars with laughter. “You should have your eyes checked, ma’am. I’m neither of those things.”

Karen tries to laugh again but something is stuck in her throat. She turns to him with panic in her eyes as she searches for words to express her discomfort but can’t seem to pick the right ones. He removes the tray from her lap and eases her down into the pile of pillows, watching in terror as her breathing becomes more labored. “Try to relax,” he tells her, relieved to see her nod as calmly as possible, and he’s fooled into believing this is just one more seizure, it will pass. Her eyes travel around the room, never resting on one place for too long, as if she’s watching an invisible insect. Frank wishes it would stop, slowly becoming aware of what it is he’s asking.

Preparing for this day hasn’t helped one bit, he realizes as Karen gradually struggles to breathe and stops responding to his questions. He can’t tell how she’s feeling, hoping that the painkillers are doing their job even now, hoping beyond hope that she’s not afraid because her eyes are telling a different story. Something in him wants to ask her to keep fighting but he knows it’s not fair, she’s been fighting for so long anyway. So he leans closer to her, barely keeping himself from crying as he squeezes her hand and feels her faint squeeze in response.

“Karen,” he whispers with as much air is left in his lungs. What he really wants to say is _don’t leave me, what am I gonna do without you, just stay a little longer, don’t go_. What comes out is different. “It’s okay,” he says, not believing it himself. If there’s anything left of his Karen, she will find comfort in the stability of his lack of verbosity. If there’s anything left of Karen, she’s laughing at his awkwardness right now. “I got you, it’s okay,” he tells her again and loses the ability to speak after that. She gives his hand one last squeeze and afterwards her fingers twitch infrequently but erratically.

This lasts for a whole hour. Her breathing has been only just audible for a while now but when her hand falls limp in his, Frank knows it’s over. He says her name once; it’s more of a plea than anything else and he doesn’t need to look in her eyes in search of any trace of sparks, but he does it anyway. There’s nothing. The vibrant blue of her eyes is already dimming. He’s not conscious of many things at the time, except the fact that he’s untethered, drifting off and unwilling to fight against it. He barely has enough strength to drag himself out of the room and grab his phone.

***

Foggy’s phone rings and it takes one look at the screen to change the atmosphere in the office. Matt hears his friend’s heartbeat quicken as he answers with a simple “Hey, Frank”.

The voice on the other end is unrecognizable. Matt has often heard both the gravel and the softness in Frank’s voice and this sounds nothing like him. It’s lower than a whisper, weaker than any human sound and Matt regrets being able to hear it. “I don’t know what to do,” Frank says to Foggy in a flat tone of surrender, a sob building up somewhere in his chest which Matt is certain won’t come out.

“Is Karen…” Foggy begins, not wanting to ask because he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“Gone,” he replies and there is the flatness again, the terrible hollowness of loss that pulls the beating heart out of your chest and leaves it on the floor to bleed out.

Foggy lets Frank know they’ll be right there, before he collapses into a sobbing mess. That was the empty husk of Frank Castle calling, Matt thinks and as his eyes well up, he hates that not being able to see light doesn’t stop him from knowing it’s been extinguished. 


	19. Chapter 19

They have to hold him back from following the van as her body is being taken away. Matt is surprised that Frank isn’t putting up much of a fight, he just seems to be pulled by an unseen rope linking him to Karen even now that she’s gone, but it feels like trying to push back a boulder regardless. Each move Frank makes is slow and lethargic, much like the way one would move in a dream. A nightmare, more accurately. “That should be me in there,” he tells them when the vehicle disappears from view, moving back towards the house and landing heavily on the front step.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Foggy chastises him, wiping tears from his face. “Karen wouldn’t like it.”

Frank looks at him with heavy eyes which immediately roll skyward, unable to maintain eye contact for long. Neither one of them can figure out how to help him; Matt has to wonder what’s left of him anyway. He’s not behaving like a person. The sounds coming from him bring to mind a wounded animal but even those are subdued, like Frank is focusing all his energy on shutting himself up. Matt feels like he has to tell him to stop, stop torturing himself like that, isn’t the situation bad enough?

“You are allowed to grieve, you know,” Matt says, careful not to let his voice crack too much. “You don’t have to hold everything in.”

Somehow, Frank manages a smirk but it’s faint and it disappears quickly. “I have a kid coming home in about ten minutes, Murdock. I’m not allowed to grieve. I’m not allowed anything,” he says and hangs his head. “You know, I thought, it was selfish but I thought this can’t be happening to me again, not again.” Matt is painfully aware of the rage bubbling in Frank’s chest. “But it’s not happening to me, is it? It’s happening to everyone else. Look at me, I’m healthy, I’m fine! I’m still standing while the people I l-” And there’s the sob he’s pushing further down. “The people I love are dropping like flies and I’m still here, watching, just watching, because I’m so damn useless.” Frank breathes in and out slowly. “I never deserved her, Karen, everybody always said she was too good for me. She was. And now she-” His eyes narrow like he’s about to cry but he doesn’t do even that. It must take a lot of effort. “Why did it have to be her? It should have been me.”

His dry wail is more unnerving than Matt could have imagined. What is he supposed to say to all this? That he agrees? He does and he doesn’t but Frank doesn’t need to know that. Foggy, who has been crying quietly in the background, decides to take charge. He marches forward and uses a tone that is too close to shouting but not quite, hoping to snap Frank out of this pointless self-flagellation.

“You have to stop this right now,” he says harshly, even though he’s the kinder part of the Nelson and Murdock duo. How easy it is to exclude Page from the team now, Matt notes with sadness. “Why is blaming yourself for everything easier than facing your feelings? Breaking news, Frank, you’re human. You have no control over who lives and who dies. So deal with it, like the rest of us. And for the love of god, cry! Let it out. Whatever this is, what you’re doing, it’s painful to watch.”

Frank shrugs in response. “I got nothing.”

Matt isn’t sure if he means he has no tears to shed or if the loss it too great. Maybe both. “I’m beginning to see why Karen asked us to look after you,” he says.

“Look after me?” Frank’s nervous laughter sounds inappropriate yet, somehow, fitting. “Yeah, of course she did. That big heart of hers.” He shakes his head. He wants to add something but the fence gate screeches, announcing Rose’s arrival. Frank jumps up and his body tenses in preparation.

“An unexpected gathering,” Rose joyfully says. “If you’re here for my birthday, you’re like a week early.”

Damn. Her birthday. Frank has completely forgotten about it. Karen never would have done that.

“Hey, kid,” he greets her and wishes he could conjure up his usual soft tone of addressing her, but all he has now is this scratchy, dry noise. Matt’s eyes are easily hidden behind his dark glasses but Foggy’s are way too revealing. So is the way they’re all bunched together. It only takes a second for her to understand what’s going on.

“I’m going to see mom,” she tells her father with a trembling voice, taking a step forward as Frank blocks her way.

“Can you wait a second?” he asks, gently gripping her arms. He’s too tired for this but there’s no avoiding it.

“No, let me go!” his daughter shrieks at him. “Dad, let go!” She raises a feeble fist and tries to punch his stomach. Physically, he can barely feel it. But it does hurt. The second punch hits his ribs. This one is more noticeable, not as weak and Frank is under the impression they’re only going to get worse if they don’t get through this part quickly. For some reason, he’s more worried about her hand than any bruises he might sustain, feels like he deserves the beating. Foggy and Matt can do nothing but watch.

“Just listen to me,” he says and applies more pressure on her arms, still careful not to hurt her. “Karen- your mother…” There are no words, he realizes, none that seem right. How can he tell her in a way that makes any sort of sense? “She’s-”

“No!” she yells, tears streaming down her face. “Stop it, let me go! You’re hurting me.”

He knows she’s only saying that to make him release her; Frank has always been good at holding soft things without breaking them but he can’t force her to stay put. His hands ease their grasp and she immediately runs into the house. With a sigh, Frank looks to the two men, still standing there, stifling their own crying. “Will you stick around?” he asks.

They both nod. “We’re not going anywhere,” Matt says.

“Appreciate it,” he mumbles and turns his back to them, going after his daughter.

Rose is standing by the bed, gasping for breath as she examines the outline of Karen’s figure, still discernible on the sheet, half-expecting her to materialize out of thin air. The whole room smells like her, only making things more difficult. With small steps, she moves closer and lets her hand hover above the fabric, sensing it’s not even warm anymore. She can’t bring herself to touch it.

“Kid,” her father’s coarse voice pulls her out of her frantic thoughts.

“You said everything had gone well, you said she was healthy,” she says grudgingly.

“Your mother and I agreed not telling you everything was better,” Frank huffs.

She whirls around to face him with a furious expression and god, she looks just like Karen, she looks just like her and Frank’s heart starts pounding, crushing against his chest. “You told me everything was okay. You, specifically, told me that!” she shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You told me she was fine! You lied to me!”

“For your own good,” he replies calmly.

“Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you dare! You lied!”

A slap lands on his arm and it stings more than any blow he’s ever taken. He nods solemnly. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he tells her and as she’s getting ready to hit him again, he lurches forward and locks her in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to the top of her head while she sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Her fists weakly strike his back a couple of times before she gives up and wraps her arms around him, her heartache so intense that he can feel it echoing in his ribcage. “I want my mom,” she howls in his chest. “I just want my mom.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Frank says, forcing down all the emotions that are boiling inside him.

That night, while Rose cries alone in her room, Frank lies down, very careful not to disrupt the sheets, not to mess with the impression of his wife’s body, next to whom he won’t be sleeping again. And he doesn’t sleep, only watches her spot as though she might come back, standing guard over someone that doesn’t need to be guarded anymore. 

***

“You don’t have to wear black if you don’t want to,” her father says, for the third time that morning.

She meets his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Hands in his pockets, dressed in black, of course, top to bottom. It makes him look much smaller than he is. “You told me already,” she responds, picking lint off her skirt. “I want her rings,” she informs him. “Both of them, you’ll give them to me.”

Frank had thought about leaving the rings on Karen’s finger, let them stay with her, like a promise, but he had also foreseen his daughter’s request. Now fiddling with the rings in his left pocket, he nods. But he won’t give them to her just yet.

Rose’s eyes are still puffy from all the crying and all the make up in the world can’t fix that. It’s no use anyway, she’s sure she’ll be crying again soon. But her father hasn’t broken down once, hasn’t shed a single tear. Admirable as his composure usually is, it’s beginning to irritate her. Doesn’t he miss her at all? For her part, Rose feels like something has been torn from her, something more important than a limb, her right arm, which she’d gladly give to have her mother back. Her father remains stoic and it makes her wonder if he’s as unfeeling as he looks.

“How are you feeling?” he asks her.

“Oh, just great,” she says, her voice dripping with cold sarcasm. “How about you?”

He sighs. “Let me know when you’re ready,” he tells her and turns to leave but she rushes past him, grabbing her coat on the way to the door.

“I’ll never be ready,” she states, feeling her eyes stinging with tears.

***

They bury her and Frank feels like he’s been buried with her. At least his heart must be because his chest seems hollow. He throws his handful of dirt in the pit which looks as bottomless as his despair and waits for his daughter to do the same. Her hands are shaking too much, he notices. And even though she’s still angry with him, she clings to him for support as they walk away. Keeping her steady, on her feet, is the only thing that means anything right now.

Back at the house, he becomes tired of all the people calling him ‘Pete’. He’s been fine with it for all those years but it suddenly has become an insult. Perhaps because Karen won’t be there to call him by his name. All the guests are singing her praise, as expected, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He knows just how kind and intelligent and brilliant she was, he doesn’t need to be reminded, he will never forget. David approaches him, his eyes impossibly red, his stance shy and uneasy; he looks like a very long child, Frank thinks with a hint of amusement.

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m good, Lieberman,” Frank lies and nods. “You’re not looking great.”

“I, uh…” David wipes his eyes. “Yeah, I’m a mess,” he lets out a wet chuckle and Frank feels for him, he really does, but wants him to go away. “Karen was one of a kind,” David tells him and it makes Frank feel like somebody is pushing a knitting needle straight through his heart very slowly. Here it is then, not buried after all.

“I know,” Frank manages to whisper before running outside like he’s being hunted.

He doesn’t mean to start thinking about it but when he catches sight of the shed, rusty padlock and all, it comes so easily to him. He could do it right now, get his guns and just ruin everything, bring the city to its knees, watch it go up in flames because nothing matters anymore. And yet, kicking down every door in the world would do no good, nobody would be able to give him Karen back. It would help a lot though, hurting others to avoid feeling the pain himself. It would help a whole lot. Shit is a lot easier when you can kill people.

He looks at his hands, only now noticing how much they’re trembling and knows he can’t pick up a gun with those hands and not because he’d miss his targets. Those hands are the ones that used to touch Karen, her softness and warmth is still imprinted on them; he couldn’t soil that memory with blood. But the need, the need to hurt someone, anyone, is too strong to be controlled and he’s going to do it if he has to, if it will take away this never ending grief. He’s starting to be afraid of his own thoughts, when the sound of his daughter’s voice pulls him slowly back to reality, a reality in which he is still a father and that has to mean something.

Rose finds her father standing in the middle of their back yard, a lonely trembling figure in black in the middle of all the green, looking at his hands like they don’t belong to him. “Dad?” she says in a flat tone and when he turns to look at her, she can tell he doesn’t instantly recognize her. She’s not even sure he knows where he is and that is enough to make her feel concerned. “Dad, are you okay?” she calls again and crosses the distance to him with quick steps. His breath is coming out rapid and shallow and for a moment, Rose thinks he’s going to drop dead too and she’s going to be left alone in the world. “Does something hurt?” she asks him, genuinely worried.

“Everything,” Frank tells her as his eyes finally overflow with tears.

And Rose is both sad and relieved at the same time, reaching for his hands to keep them steady. She’s used to having her father doing the comforting, doing the mending, but he obviously needs her help now. And about damn time he asked for it too. “Do you want me to get you anything?” Rose asks.

“I want-” he tries to say through fits of weeping, tearing his hands from hers to wipe his face but the tears just keep coming. “I just want Karen,” he says finally and Rose crashes into him, holding him firmly by the waist. He’s thankful for her timing, his knees were about to buckle. “There are so many things I never told her, always held back, didn’t want her to think I was clingy, you know? I could always tell her tomorrow or the day after, like time was an unlimited resource, even when we knew it was running out.”

“She knew, she always knew,” his daughter tells him.

“Did she?” The question mark in his voice is desperate, he really isn’t sure and the doubt is crushing him, Rose can hear it clearly. “Christ, did she? I didn’t even tell her I love her before-” _Love_ , not _loved_. Love, always.

“Daddy, please,” she says, using the word he hasn’t heard in years and it makes him feel strong and frail at once, like his daughter is now the only person that can build him up and tear him down as she chooses. “She knew, okay? There was never a doubt in her mind about how you felt for her.”

“Yeah? She told you that?”

Rose nods. “Many times.”

“That’s something, I guess,” he sighs.

Rose is all cried out, she realizes, at least for the time being. So she lets her dad cry and even though she suspects he’s censoring himself again when his sobs begin weakening, she helps him wipe some of the tears off his face and pats his arms. “Most people have gone,” she says. “There’s only family left now.” And he lets her lead him by the hand, like he’s too scared to go in there on his own.

The usual suspects are gathered around Karen’s photo. The Liebermans standing in a circle on their own, Foggy and Matt side by side, with their heads bowed as Marci holds Foggy’s hand while wiping her eyes. Mitchell and Curtis glance at him as he rejoins the group, their gaze solemn but gentle on him. He wishes everyone would leave but he also needs them to stay, Frank thinks before Curtis raises his arm and motions for him to move closer. Rose nudges him, pushing him into Curtis’s hug and she goes and lodges herself between Matt and Foggy. And for a while, there is only silence, no one’s crying, no one’s saying a thing, everything is peaceful. Frank hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

***

After they’ve seen everybody out, Rose collapses in a chair and stretches her legs with a tired groan. She looks to him like an adult, all of a sudden, like at least twenty added years are weighing her shoulders down and Frank hopes it won’t last.

“Just you and me now,” he says with a sad smile and she matches his expression. “You okay with that?”

“Yes, I think I’ll cope,” she replies kindly.

Frank digs his hand into his pocket, squeezing Karen’s rings in his fist for a second before pulling his hand out again. He sits across his daughter, separated by the coffee table between them, distance enough to feel safe. He brings his closed fist over the wooden surface and opens it, placing the rings on the table in a stern move, knowing exactly what’s at stake.

“We thought we’d tell you together, me and your mom, later. Much later,” he says as she reaches forward to pick up her mother’s jewelry. “When the time is right, she’d say. But there will never be a right time for this.”

Rose slides the silver ring on her finger, it’s a bit wide but she doesn’t care, as she runs her thumb over the gold one, lifting it up to the window where it catches the sunlight and shines for a brief moment. The carving on its inner surface is clear, unmistakable and extremely confusing. “I don’t understand,” she mumbles.

Her father brings his palms up to his face and gives it a hard rub before meeting her big, blue eyes -her mother’s eyes- and saying, in his usual, steady tone “It’s time you and I had a talk about Frank Castle”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am crying too, you know.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I need another chapter to wrap things up, if you guys are ok with that.

Pete Castiglione is a man without a past, he tells his daughter. He’s perfect. But nobody’s perfect, nobody should be. Pete is squeaky clean however, doesn’t even have a parking ticket. Pete has a job, a house, a car. Unimportant things really. What Pete has that truly matters is a wife -well, not anymore- and a daughter. And the only reason Pete Castiglione has those is because Frank Castle wanted them. He wanted them so much that denying who he was, forsaking his name and his past didn’t mean a goddamn thing.  Maybe it was because he’d lost so much already or maybe it was just that Karen Page was a force to be reckoned with; either way, slipping into Pete’s shoes had been easy and comfortable for Frank. And if it wasn’t for Karen’s insistence to have his name engraved onto her wedding ring, Frank might never have told his daughter the truth.

“You…” Rose mutters. “You’re Frank Castle?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frank replies coolly, feeling a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“You changed your name? Why?”

“I had to,” he says.

“Witness protection?” she asks again and he has to keep himself from laughing.

“Protection. For the people I care about,” he tells her. She gets the message.

“You must have done something seriously wrong to have to change your name,” she retorts and Frank sees one of his worst fears realized before his eyes, as she twists her body in an uncomfortable position, withdrawing from him, looking at him the way one might look at a gun pointed at their head.

“Most people would say that. I disagree,” Frank says, ignoring the pain his daughter’s reaction is causing and getting up to get the photo of Maria and the kids which has been safely hidden for a long time.

Rose shrinks away from him when he goes to stand next to her but he just hands her the picture and sits back down. She cautiously examines the photo and looks at him with renewed confusion. “Who are these people?”

“My family. That’s Maria on the left, my wife. Lisa and Frankie, my kids,” he grunts. Knowing beforehand that this would hurt to discuss doesn’t lessen the impact his words have, both on him and his daughter. “They were killed, all of them.”

With the photo still in one hand, she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth, now looking more closely to the details of their faces. “I look like her,” she says in a broken whisper. “Lisa, the shape of her eyes, I-”

Frank can’t pretend he hadn’t noticed. “Yeah, you do.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Rose asks, anger becoming increasingly obvious in her tone.  

“Because you wanted your mother’s rings,” he replies honestly. “If it was up to me, I’d have taken this secret to my grave.”

“Are you serious? This isn’t something you keep hidden!”

“Yes, it is.” Frank huffs. “Yes, it is, if you don’t want to have your kid look at you the way you’re looking at me now.” He’s certain she can hear him choking up but what use would it be to try and act calm at this point, on this day of all days? “See, your mother and I never lied to each other and she always did her best to be honest with you, with everyone. That was her code of honor. Tell the truth, shame the devil.” He chuckles nervously, cursing under his breath. _Goddamn it, Page. Why’d you let me do this alone?_ “But me? I would lie to you every day, about everything, I’d lie and lie and I’d enjoy doing it, if it meant you’d go on thinking of me as some kind of superhero that can do no wrong.”

Rose remains silent. The person sitting across from her is wearing her father’s skin, speaking in her father’s voice but she’s not sure she recognizes him. There’s a terrible need in what he’s saying, he’s begging for reassurance and she wishes she could just reach out to him and tell him everything is going to be okay, but she can’t. Not yet. She doesn’t know Frank Castle or what he’s done, he’s a perfect stranger and she will have to hear his story first, before she can absolve him of anything.

How could he be doing this to her now, Frank thinks, laying this burden on her like she has nothing else to worry about? For the first time in his life, he feels like a criminal. “I love you, kid.” That’s the understatement of the century; he could bring down the sky with his own two hands for her, he could dismantle the world. “And I know you love me too. I’m not sure you’ll keep loving me after today, but it’s just you and me now and I’ll be damned if I disappoint your mother by refusing to shame the devil. Even if the devil is me.”

And then he begins telling her the whole story. Barring a few details, like Daredevil’s true identity which he has no right to divulge, or the exact amount of gore his handiwork has produced, he is entirely honest and unrepentant. He doesn’t bother portraying himself in a favorable light because whatever damage he could do is done; Rose is looking at him with stunned horror painted across her face and instead of discouraging him, it only motivates him to keep going. When he finishes his narration, using the night he went back to Karen as a finale, Frank realizes how dark the living room is and, without a word, gets up to turn on the lights.

Rose is sitting in the same rigid position, eyes fixed on the floor. After about five minutes of just standing there in silence, he thinks about stroking her hair but knows how unwelcome the gesture would be at the moment. _Was it worth it_ , a voice he doesn’t recognize demands in his head.

“Kid,” he urges softly. “Say something.”

She turns to him slowly, peering at him like she’s never seen him before. “What do you expect me to say?”

“Anything,” Frank pleads with a voice tired from all the talking. “You can tell me to go to hell, if it makes you feel any better.”

This causes some kind of tender emotion to spark in her eyes but she’s not ready to give in yet. “What’s the point?” she tells him. “You’ve already been to hell. You seem to be carrying it with you.”

That would have been a fair appraisal some years ago, Frank thinks. But not since Karen. Karen had been able to put the flames out; she always knew the right thing to say, the right thing to do. He feels terribly unqualified to deal with this mess of his own creation.

“That sounded worse than I meant it,” Rose clarifies in a steady voice and Frank hopes this is a flag of truce.

“I’ll take anything you throw at me,” he says.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. Now you have to give me time to think. I can’t think with you looking at me like that!” she snaps at him and jumps up from her seat, shaking her arms to relieve the tension that keeps stacking up. She feels like her spine might crack from all the pressure.

“Fair enough,” Frank concedes and takes a few steps back.

“I am going to go to my room. I am going to close the door. And you…” she pauses, gathering her thoughts. “You leave me alone,” she tells him and runs off, slamming the door behind her, an indication of how serious she is.

_Well, Frank? Was it worth it_ , that voice in his head resumes its questioning and by the condemning tone, he can finally deduce it’s his own. _Now you really have nothing left._

Frank hides his face in his palms, judging whether or not he should punch a hole through the coffee table. No sounds are coming from Rose’s room, no crying, no pacing, nothing. Almost as if she’s not there. He considers knocking on her door but she needs her space, she’s made that clear. After the bomb he has let explode in her lap, backing off is the least he can do. But he worries. About her and how much he’s forcing her to put up with and what this will do to their relationship. Pete never would have done that. Pete is perfect. Frank, not so much.   

***

In the morning, feeling about a hundred years old, he drags himself to the kitchen. The kid could use some breakfast and he needs roughly ten gallons of coffee. Rose is already up and putting on her jacket, a small backpack placed by her feet. Alarm bells start ringing in his mind, making it difficult to think. A sharp groan escapes him and her head snaps to his direction; she looks startled and slightly annoyed. Frank rushes her immediately like a cannon ball driven by panic and she reels back.

“Hey, no!” he barks at her and grabs her by the arms, shaking her once. “No! You don’t do that shit, you hear me? You wanna hate me, you do it here! You don’t run away like that!” He bends forward and looks her straight in the eyes. Noticing her shocked expression is painful but not more than the prospect of losing her. “You stay! I’ll never say another word to you, I’ll let you get on with your life like I’m not even here. And you can hate me all you want but you do it at home!” he tells her, the gurgling sound of oncoming tears evident in his voice.

“I was just going out,” she mumbles. “I’m not running away.” Where could she go anyway? This is the only safe space she knows.

Frank would be feeling embarrassed, if he wasn’t so relieved. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lost it,” he says between panting, but can’t seem to make his hands let go of her. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?”

Rose brings a steady hand up and places it on his chest, pushing him back gently. She doesn’t know if this is Pete or Frank, but it’s definitely her dad and she doesn’t want to hurt him. “Okay,” she replies as he straightens up.

She spent the better part of last night looking up Frank Castle on her phone. Excluding a couple of her mother’s old articles, which were surprisingly painful to read despite their merciful tone, everything else she could find presented him as a monster. He was dangerous, he was nothing but a loaded weapon and she should fear him. But she couldn’t. It takes a lot more than a change of name to change the essence of a person, Rose thinks, not sure if the thought is her own or if somebody told her that at some point in her life. It does sound a lot like something her mother would say.

Her mother had placed her trust in Frank Castle and even though she could sometimes be stubborn and reckless and stupidly brave, Karen Page had never been a fool. Rose could at least count on that.

“Dad,” she says tentatively, noticing the muscles of his jaw tremble when she speaks. “I’m sorry about what happened to you. It wasn’t…” She inhales sharply. “It wasn’t fair.” By his stern nod she assumes they can both agree on that, even if the words she’s picked don’t seem exactly right to express just how unfair it was. He had a family and they were taken from him. Rose has to wonder if she was ever enough to make up for that loss. She has to wonder the same thing her father considered on the day she was born, though he never even mentioned it to her: what would he choose? She can’t phrase it like that of course, it would be awful. So instead she says “Would you have done the same if that was me and mom?” and she instantly regrets it.

Her father’s fists clench impossibly tight. “Do you understand what you’re asking me?” he snarls, a sound she’s never heard coming from his throat before.

“Maybe I don’t,” she admits. “But I think I’m right to assume that talking about things like that with mom was easier, for her and for you, because she knew about your past. I only just found out. So I may need clarification sometimes, if that’s not too much trouble,” she says, trying to sound cold but, just like her mother, her heart is worn on her sleeve more often than not. “I may need to be told that we weren’t some consolation prize.”

Frank stares at her, so awestruck and confused that he has to rub his eyes to make sure this isn’t an illusion. “Rose, aren’t you afraid?”

“Is there a reason why I should be?” she asks but doesn’t give him a chance to reply. “I’m not afraid of you.” She was afraid last night, when he unloaded everything on her, when she saw the pictures of the wanted criminal that Castle was; but it hasn’t been that long since she was sitting on his shoulders or he was building things for her or combing her hair while they laughed together. Frank Castle, Pete Castiglione. Who cares? “You’re my dad.”

“Damn right I am,” Frank says and pulls her into a hug, to which his daughter doesn’t protest.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with this fic! I hope it hasn't disappointed and that the final chapter makes up for some of the terrible things I did to our precious babies. And I promise to never hurt them again. Thanks again, leave me all the comments, lots of love!

The Bulletin has been struggling for some time but Frank is thankful they still keep going, even if it’s with a different editor; and despite Mitchell’s recent retirement, his part in Karen’s eulogy getting published is as evident as his signature under it. He reads it out loud to Rose who is sitting in the swing, sluggishly swaying back and forth as she stares into space. It’s good to have Karen remembered like that, like the unstoppable force that she was, tenderness and ferocity in equal measure. When he’s finished reading, he folds the paper and sets it aside, looking at his daughter as he waits for her to speak.

“He makes her sound indestructible,” she sighs, trying to keep her sniffling to a minimum. “I wish she was.” Frank would respond if it wasn’t for the lump in his throat. “Do you think we’ll ever stop missing her?” she asks him.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “No, that doesn’t go away,” he replies honestly. “It just becomes a part of daily life, you know, a habit, like picking up your keys before leaving the house.”

“I hate this feeling, I hate it,” Rose says.

“Me too, kid,” Frank admits. “But tell you the truth, if I stop missing your mom, she’s gone for good. I can’t let that happen.”

She manages to chuckle. “I believe that’s called masochism.”

“Maybe,” Frank hums. He weighs his words for a moment. “I gotta come clean, kid. Complete honesty from now on, right?”

Rose replies with a serious nod.

“I’m not…” He stops to suppress the waterworks, wringing his hands. “I’m not doing well, without your mom.” She blinks at him. “Feels like I’m cut in half and the better part is missing.”

“From where I stand, you seem like a good enough part on your own,” his daughter chastises. “But I get it.” She gets up and approaches him, opting to sit down beside him instead of towering over him. “You’re going to need a lot of help,” she says, smiling sweetly and leans on him. “You’re lucky I’m here.”

Frank puts his arm around her and a nervous chuckle escapes him. “Sure am,” he says as he kisses the side of her head.

 

Epilogue

When he dreams of Karen, she’s not a distinct figure, coming to cheer for him when he’s done something right or to accuse him for his shortcomings; she’s just a blur in the already fuzzy dream setting and she never stays for long, disappearing along with the other characters that his sleeping mind decides to cast in each scenario. Sometimes he runs after her, trying to get a word in before the dream dissipates but she’s always elusive, like she knows their two worlds are not meant to overlap. His fingers close over thin air and he wakes up, the need to howl so strong in him that he has to bury his face in the pillow to muffle whatever sound manages to flow out of him.

Rose is much better at bouncing back than he is. The loss of her mother is probably the worst thing that will ever happen to her, but she goes back to being a regular teenager as soon as her broken heart allows it. He doesn’t begrudge her ability to press forward. If anything, he’s proud of her, he’s happy.

“It’s time, you know,” she tells him one day, charcoal pencils in hand. “You can’t run from me forever.”

He reluctantly agrees to model for her, even if doing it makes him feel stupid. He’s not model material, the scars on his face are a testament to that, he thinks and wonders if Karen felt just as silly when she sat down for hours on end, listening to the scratching sounds of the pencils on paper while their daughter went to work. His mind focuses on thoughts of his wife and he doesn’t realize how quickly time’s passed.

“Done,” Rose says with a triumphant look on her face, slipping the pastel paper to him.

Frank has to blink several times. “Is this what you see?” he asks, unable to see the resemblance himself. The harsh lines are gracefully complementing the soft ones, creating the picture of a man who is at ease with his life, even though his eyes seem to be searching for something. Her drawing doesn’t make it very clear if the man is looking to the future or to recapture something that is lost but it’s beautiful and brings tears to his eyes regardless.

“What do you mean? This is you. I see you,” she replies and Frank isn’t certain if he imagines the slight crack in her voice. “We can put it next to the one of mom’s,” she says.

When she’s decided on a placement that appeases her fine aesthetic, Frank draws in a sharp breath. It’s like they’re looking at each other; Karen, with her beautiful smile, welcoming as always and him, pining after her. Rose sees the effect it has on her father and moves to change the arrangement but he stops her. “This is how it should be,” he tells her. She understands what this is doing to him and tries to change the subject.

“Not to blow my own horn, but we should have them framed. I’m becoming an artist,” she grins to him.

“You’ve always been an artist,” Frank says, his chest swelling with pride as Rose blushes.

His opinion doesn’t change when she decides to study law, knowing there’s a place for her with Nelson and Murdock, if she chooses it. And she does choose it. That was her plan to begin with, to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Frank tries to talk her out of it once, telling her that her own dreams are more important, she doesn’t need to prove she is her mother’s daughter; in fact, there’s no better way of proving it than doing her own thing, she can do anything she wants.

“But this is what I want, dad,” Rose says, her expression calm and assertive. “There’s no rule saying I can’t be a lawyer and an artist at the same time.”

“If you’re sure,” he tells her.

“I’m sure,” she nods and they don’t discuss it again.

Eventually, she gets her own apartment. It’s small but she loves it and Frank helps her move in, packing and unpacking boxes like he’s not the least bit concerned about his little girl living on her own in the city. He spends two sleepless nights alone at home before finally giving in to the urge to drive around her block, without telling her. On the fourth round, his phone rings and he tries to sound casual when he picks it up.

“Go home, dad,” Rose laughs on the other end. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll see you in the weekend.”

Embarrassed, Frank throws in the towel and goes back to his modest house in Massapequa Park. The silence is equally annoying and soothing and the contradiction makes him feel sick. It takes one look at all the photos of Karen, spread out on every flat surface, to make him simmer down. Like an idiot, he wishes ghosts were real. He’d have no problem sitting down across Karen’s specter and having a beer as she haunted him, but while that would provide him with some peace of mind, it would require her not to have any peace at all. Suddenly superstitious, he takes his wish back. “Okay, Page,” he says out loud. “I got this.” He does his best but, unavoidably, some days are better than others. He never stops missing her; when he’s picking up his keys, when he’s driving to Rose’s place, when Matt and Foggy or Curtis or David drop by for a beer, it’s always there but he learns to live with it. There’s nothing he can do about it anyway.

One day, Rose brings a guy home. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy you have to warn not to hurt your daughter unless he wants to have both his legs broken. His name is Benjamin but his friends call him Ben. He’s small, dark, shy and polite and his handshake is firm. Frank likes him instantly but the smile he brings to his daughter’s face adds a lot to his charm. He doesn’t call him Benjamin once. They laugh over dinner and Frank notices the way Rose’s shoulder bumps into his every now and then, reminding him of how Karen would gently tap his knee when he felt nervous. He can’t believe he’s the reason the boy is feeling nervous, something that Rose confirms later, as she helps him with the dishes.

“I’m going to marry him,” she tells her father. “I think.”

Frank laughs. “The thinking should come before the declaration, sweetheart. Has he asked you?”

“Yes. I told him I needed to think about it.”

“Smart,” he nods, putting a glass away. “Is that what you’re doing now? Thinking?”

Rose hums. “How did you know? With mom?”

He sighs. “Your mother was…” he pauses and chuckles. “Different. First of all, you gotta know, doesn’t mean I’d have it any other way but once she got her hands on me, no one could pry me away from her.” He can tell by her expression that’s not exactly the answer she’s looking for. “She brought me peace. She made the world go quiet. And she would kick my ass when I made a mistake. That’s a healthy balance, I think.” He grins at her.

“I don’t remember you ever fighting,” she furrows her brows at him and crosses her arms.

“We fought quietly after you came along. But back when we lived in that tiny apartment in New York, we’d have the loudest fights. You can’t expect a relationship without fighting, that’s not realistic,” Frank gives her the lowdown, feeling his eyes sting a bit.

“Was it mom doing the shouting?” Rose giggles.

“That goes without saying but I put in my fair share too,” he says with a half-smile, missing those fights more and more. “Does this guy give you what you need? Doesn’t have to be peace.”

“He does,” Rose smiles back adoringly and he can’t tell who this adoration is meant for but he wants part of it.

“Does he support your decisions?” Frank asks and she nods. “Does he tell you when you’re being stubborn?” _Like your mother_ , he thinks.

She pretends to take offense but lets out a little laugh anyway. “Oh boy, does he.”

“Yeah, he seems good enough to me. But only what you think matters,” he tells her with a serious look and she leans in to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks, dad,” she says and goes back to her boyfriend who is examining their family photos.

“You look very much like your mother,” he hears Ben say. “But I see a lot of your father in you as well.”

Frank really likes this guy. It’s fortunate that his daughter ends up marrying him and being happy with him and no one’s legs need to get broken, makes him feel content. No, it makes him feel happy; he’s happy when he gives her away on her wedding day, seeing her flash Ben a bright smile, similar to the one Karen always saved for him. If Rose had chosen to put flowers in her hair, Frank’s heart might have given out. She hasn’t, so he makes it safely to the reception and the father-daughter dance. He smiles a lot. It would be bad luck to allow himself to be sad on this day. Karen would be proud of him, he thinks. She’d be proud of them both.  

Sometimes he gets too lonely, gets angry with Karen for not being there but he knows that’s unreasonable. It sure would be nice to have her around to tell him he’s being unreasonable, so he sees it as a challenge some days, like she’s going to show up and fix him with a glare until he calms down. It feels stupid but he does it anyway, to keep himself busy.

Busy is the only thing he is when he becomes a grandfather. He’s not sure he remembers how to hold a baby but his hands don’t seem to mind, and they shouldn’t, because babysitting will soon be needed and he’s happy to sign on for the task. Rose asks him to move in with them. She’s concerned they will exhaust him in the end and makes sure to politely remind him he’s getting old.

“I’m fine where I am, kid,” Frank tells her.                                   

“I worry about you, dad,” Rose says, crossing her arms.

“Hey, stop that,” he says when her bottom lip begins trembling. It’s very easy to see now what Karen meant, as he looks at the wonderful woman his daughter is, physical evidence of the love they shared. Not just because Rose has the shape of his eyes and Karen’s smile; that was random, they had no control over it. But because she’s kind and strong and passionate, among other things. Frank hadn’t realized how much work went into that until now. He wishes Karen was there to share in that revelation with him. Maybe she had always known. It’s funny how a broken heart can still be full of happiness, he thinks. “You don’t need to worry about me.” He pulls her closer to him with one arm, cradling his fair grandson in the other, and kisses her temple as she relaxes into the hug.

With a mixture of pure happiness and endless longing in perfect balance, almost like this is what it’s like to be human, Frank watches his hair turn white, a sight he finds unbelievable but he accepts the gift with grace, no matter how undeserving of it he perceives himself to be. The loud complaints of his bones as they become more brittle aren’t that much of a gift but he accepts that too. Nobody said that growing old would be a walk in the park.

Rose checks up on him, calls several times a day and visits him along with her family more often than most people would. But while Frank is grateful, he’s fine being alone with his memories too.

“We’re just getting in the car, we’ll be there soon,” she says one day on the phone. “Want me to bring you anything?”

“Some white roses would be nice,” Frank tells her. “Haven’t had flowers in here in a while.”

“Okay, dad. See you in a bit. Love you,” Rose says.

“Love you too, sweetheart.” He leans back in his chair, hoping he won’t doze off while he waits for them, but Rose has a key anyway and they can’t expect an old man not to fall asleep where he sits, he thinks, amused at his old age.     

When he hears her heels clicking on the wooden floor, he opens his eyes lazily, momentarily disoriented as the blur of sleep doesn’t fade. “ _Frank_ ,” the soft whisper is almost inaudible but his mind registers it as something sacred and welcome. Frank is a practical man. He doesn’t believe in ghosts and spirits. When Karen appears before him, soft and tender and smiling, he’s tempted to become a believer but he knows better and if this is the trick his mind has decided to play on him, he’s not going to shun it. Christ, he thinks, has she always been that beautiful or is his memory fooling him?

“Page,” he smiles back at her as his heart skips a beat. She leans over him and kisses his forehead.

“Are you tired, baby?” she asks, still smiling. “Ready to call it a day?” she says and offers him her hand.

That gesture is familiar in more ways than one. It’s an offer he’s been made before, one he refused to take because he knew what it meant. He knows what it means now but he would follow this woman to hell and back; and maybe this is exactly what she’s asking him to do but he’s not afraid. He takes her hand and feels the pressure of her fingers, like she’s solid, like she’s really there. Warmth spreads all over his body and he forgets to breathe, wishing he could freeze time right now, make this moment endless. In a way, it is. He holds Karen’s gaze, feels grateful, eternally devoted, blessed beyond measure and when he finally closes his eyes, he hopes that when his daughter walks into the room, she won’t drop the roses on the floor. It would be a shame to waste such beautiful flowers.


End file.
